


Fragments of Home

by artistic-writer (Itrustyoutokillme)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Doctor!Emma, Doctor/Patient, Emma and David are siblings, F/M, Gen, Hurt, One night stand to relationship, architect!Killian, architect!david, captain charming as best friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 70,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15528783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/artistic-writer
Summary: Emma Swan must return home to her childhood town of Storybrooke when her mother dies and stays in the house left to her and her brother, David Nolan.  Emma must juggle a temporary job at the hospital with her loss, something that has made her feel smaller than she ever was. When a tall, dark, handsome stranger comes into her life in the most unexpected way, and she begins to fall in love, will she stay in Storybrooke, or return to her new life back in New York?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want everyone to know that this is a rewrite of a fic I started and subsequently abandoned from another fandom. There may still be some of it online, but I assure you, I have not plagiarized myself. Chill.

Emma would never forget the feeling of being told your only surviving parent had died, alone and aged in their house. To make her guilty conscious even more rampant, Emma had been told over the telephone because she was out of state. Now, as she stood beside her mother’s open grave and a handful of mourners gathered to watch the dull, black casket lowered into the earth for the first and only time, Emma wept. Hot, stinging tears fell from her bowed head and were lost in the raindrops that pounded the soft, grassy ground of the cemetery. 

She must have sniffed, or her body must have heaved for more breath because a strong, masculine hand filled with warmth and comfort took hold of hers and squeezed tightly. When she looked up from the joined hands which were soggy from the warm May rain, her watery green eyes met the dark greyed hues of her brothers. David did not smile, nor did he say anything, he just held her hand as the words of goodbye were muttered from the Bible at the head of the six-foot grave by a man in a long, soaked robe. 

David jerked forward a little as he slowly threw a handful of dirt down into the hole, reluctant to let go of the crumbly substance that left brown stains on his fingers. He heaved a breath and fought back tears of his own. David was older than Emma, taller and had always been the stronger one in the relationship. Emma was smart, a doctor and had taken the resemblance of their mother, slightly curled blonde hair, green eyes and when the situation called for it, a dazzling smile. David was the opposite; huge, masculine and toned to the highest degree with soulful blue eyes that changed colour with his mood. 

Emma lifted her free hand and wiped away a warm tear amongst the cold raindrops that splashed her face. Her hair stuck to her forehead and drips collected at the end of her nose, plummeting to the ground shortly after. David handed Emma a damp, dark red rose, de-thorned and made safe for his little sister in their delicate time of loss. He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixated on the glistening, rain covered casket that held their mother as the sound of a pulley system stopped and silence filled the air when it hit the bottom on the grave.

“You have to say goodbye,” David whispered, rubbing her hand in his as the other mourners dispersed, leaving them alone at the graveside. Their mother had no family left apart from them and the few people that did turn up were her in-home carers, but David suspected they were being paid to be here.

Emma flicked water from the ends of her mid length hair as she turned to face her brother. Rain defined itself down his face, leaving fake tear lines from his eyes as the rain pummelled into his chiselled features. Emma suspected a few of the lines were real though and he blinked rapidly as the rain hit his eyelids when he turned to face her. “I don’t want to,” Emma snivelled, clasping the rose between her fingers.

David’s hard features dissolved at her childlike weakness and uncertainty. “I should have been in Storybrooke,” Emma muttered sadly turning back to the grave. Her voice cracked when she spoke and David tilted his head sideways in empathy before pulling her into a tight embrace.

“Mom was very ill, Emma, you couldn’t have done anything,” David reassured her as he rubbed her sobbing figure. “She doesn’t hate you,” David said with a lighter tone as if his mother was still with them. Emma cried against the expensive white material of his shirt and silky black material of his tie, her hands crushed against his body and covering her face.

Emma’s crying ceased momentarily but her sobs kept her breath hitching, rocking her body each time it did. David draped his hand over hers and gripped onto the stem of the rose that she held tightly. “When you’re ready, let me know,” he soothed, ready to take the rose and throw it for her, down into the awaiting darkness of their mother’s grave.

As Emma stood with her face pressed against her brother’s chest, her entire childhood flashed before her eyes. The time she and David had found a dog, only for their mother to scold them both and return it to its rightful owners. The day Emma got her first period, scared and only ten years old and the way her mother had told her about why women had them and how babies were born. The day Emma graduated and went to college to study medicine and her mother’s comments about it being the happiest day of her life. When their father was killed in a train crash, beyond unbelievable odds their mother stayed strong for her two teenage children who threatened to crumble and fall more than once.

Emma was her mother’s daughter, strong and proud of her family and how they had beaten all other odds to get to where they were. Emma inhaled deeply and lifted her face from David’s shirt, calmer and stronger than a few minutes ago when she was ready to dive into the hole with her mother. David let her go but kept his grip on her hand as she turned and tossed the rose into the grave. “Goodbye, Mom,” Emma whispered as the fragile flower landed softly on top of the casket and was stuck there by the rain.

David once again gave Emma’s hand a proud squeeze and he offered her a smile, which she returned weakly. “You did good,” he told her softly, releasing her hand and pulling her into a sideways hug. 

\--

“And you’re sure you don’t need me to stay over?” David half offered, half suggested to his baby sister as they climbed the mountainous concrete steps to their mother’s house. The will stated the house was now theirs, to do as they wished with. Their mother had even put in her will that if they wanted to keep it, they had to share, something David and Emma had always had trouble with growing up. Emma had smiled and a chuckle had escaped her lips at the soft words of the will reader, much to his surprise, even though Emma and David both knew it was a private joke from their mother.

“I’ll be ok,” Emma smiled and pulled her brother into a hug. It lingered, her tiny frame enveloped in David’s massive bulk as he smoothed his hands over her shoulders while Emma’s hands barely touched each other around his waist. His clean-shaven face was pressed to her soft locks on top of her head and he pulled back to plant a kiss there.

“You know where I am,” David nodded, holding her at arm's length from him at the door. He was still dressed in his expensive, black suit but his tie had been wrenched loose and now hung loosely around his neck. The top button of his collar had been popped open and his normally neatly preened, short, blonde hair had gone limp in the rain. Emma just offered him a smile and stepped from his embrace with a caring nod of agreement as he cupped her chin in his massive hand and lifted her still watery eyes to his. “Goodnight Sis,” he said, leaning forward to plant another soft kiss to her, this time on her forehead, before leaving her to enter the house alone.

The house was cold, desolate and yet so familiar as Emma stepped over the threshold and inhaled its homely scent. The decorated hall reminded Emma of her childhood because her mother had not changed the ghastly wallpaper since then, and the carpet had been worn so flat over the years Emma wondered if her mother was ignorant to its need for change or she just loved it so much. Emma shrugged off her coat and rested it over the acorn banister stop at the end of the handrail to the stairs. At least that had been recently painted and freshened up.

The only sound that came from the hall was the old grandfather clock that stood at the bottom of the staircase next to her mother’s shoe rack. Why somebody who lived alone and was practically housebound needed more than one pair of shoes was beyond Emma, but her mother had insisted on the wooden, box-like structure shortly before she passed. Apparently, you never know when you’re going to need one.

The floor beneath Emma changed into linoleum when she stepped into the kitchen. It was small, way too small for a house so big. There was barely room to move, it was thin and long rather than wide but Emma remembered it well. Phantom smells of her mother’s cooking wafted from appliances that hadn’t actually been used in so long Emma wouldn’t have been surprised if none of them even worked anymore. The worktops were still those from her childhood; light beige and rimmed with a metallic edge that filled Emma with nostalgia instantly.

Emma’s fingers traced over a melted spot next to the cooker top and she smiled, remembering how she and David had thought it a good idea to make rice whilst the babysitter was otherwise occupied with her boyfriend, only to forget the water, set fire to the pan and melt the sideboard in the process. The babysitter was never invited back and they were severely scolded.

The living room was exactly how Emma remembered it the day she left home and moved to New York. The sofa was still covered in the deep red throw her mother used on all her furniture, but only after years of nagging from Emma and David to get rid of the plastic coverings. They had claimed it cramped their teenage style and was old fashioned, only to understand its fantastic purpose once they were both older and a small child had been let loose in Emma’s apartment with a candy bar. In the nicest possible way, Emma had told her friend not to return until her son was in college.

Emma’s eyes danced across the photographs her mother had resting above the open fireplace in wooden frames, possibly the most modern thing about the old house. There were pictures of Emma and David as babies, graduates, and adults. One of David standing proud in his naval dress blues and one of them and their mother when she was in better health. At the end of the mantelpiece, encased in an old brass frame in need of a polish was a photograph of Emma’s father.

Lieutenant General George Nolan, MD of the First United States Army stood in full uniform, chest puffed out proudly as the slightly angled flag of the United States of America lay behind him. His uniform was dark green with huge, shiny brass buttons and his black tie stood out from his light, leafy green shirt, crisp and practically ironed to his body. On each shoulder was a row of three silver stars, telling the world he was indeed a Three Star General and a barrage of badges decorated his jacket above his left pocket. On each sleeve, at the shoulder, was a sewn on badge. It was black and white and depicted the US military ensign for the medical corps and on his right breast pocket was a dull black plastic badge with his surname stamped on it in white lettering.

Emma picked up the photograph and ran her finger down her father’s smiling face. He was the reason she had become a doctor. George Nolan had been one of the only things in Emma’s childhood she wanted to see for the rest of her life. He would tell her stories of how he’d saved lives and it made Emma so proud to know him, that being his only daughter was like a gift in itself. When he had boarded the train that day, waved off by a loving wife and two loving teenage children, George had pressed his thin, masculine lips to his palm and flung his arm towards Emma, offering her a kiss of feigned goodbyes. When he hadn’t returned, Emma had died inside.

Shortly afterward, Emma Swan Nolan had decided to take only her mother’s surname for the rest of her life, unable to bring herself to even say her father’s name anymore. David of course, being the fifteen year old son of a high ranking military hero kept his father’s surname and dropped his mothers. The family were unusual and trying to describe the Swan-Nolan connection when Emma and David were at school was difficult but it worked for them. It helped them cope, Emma especially, who had always found it easy to run and not face her feelings. Now she was Emma Swan, MD (Medical Doctor) and her brother was David Nolan, Meng (Master of Engineering), and Emma knew, wherever they were, George Nolan and Gaye Swan couldn’t have been more full of pride.

\--

“Good morning Mr. Nolan,” the petite brunette chimed from behind the huge wooden desk with a massive toothy smile when David stepped from the elevator into his company’s floor. She wore the same thing every day apart from on Thursday when her brilliant white blouse was replaced with an olive green one that accented her jade eyes. Not that he had noticed.

“Good morning Mary Margaret,” David smiled at her as he retrieved his mail from the paper tray on her desk. “How is your day going?” he enquired politely, lifting his eyes from the letters and memos in his hand just long enough to flash her a smile. David enjoyed work, especially office work. He had time to interact with his staff, his pretty assistant especially, and it also kept his high functioning partner, Killian Jones at bay.

Mary Margaret blushed and fiddled with her modern silver headset when it began ringing on her desk. She cleared her throat and motioned to David with a long, extended and well manicured finger. “Jones-Nolan Engineers,” she droned like a robotic Barbie doll into the mouthpiece of the hands-free headset. “Please hold,” she said sweetly and pressed the well used grey button on her telephone. She looked back to David with an apologetic grin. “Mr. Jones has been in your office for twenty minutes,” she whispered in a low voice, her warning followed by a knowing look. David gave her thankful smile and sighed heavily.

Killian was his friend, his best friend in fact and they had been through a lot. Both of the men had met whilst at university studying for the same Masters, sharing a room and even graduating as the top two in their class (David was, unfortunately, second to the ever neurotically charged Killian.) When Killian had insisted they set up their own business David had jumped at the chance. What better way to make money than with an inevitable rival at your side? However, Killian was a pain, and not like a niggling itch in the center of your back. Far more than that, Killian was a disease; meticulous and infectious to everyone he came into contact with, as well as reckless and arrogantly intelligent. Sometimes it worked in their favor, but mostly it just caused issues.

Every morning he would start by sitting himself in David’s office until his partner arrived to inevitably find him with his feet up on his heavy, well polished desk and some sort of folder clasped in his hand. He was a fantastic engineer, David couldn’t deny him that, but he was not normal. So far from normal that David had, on more than one occasion of his outbursts, threatened to sell his half of the business to the highest bidder and leave him with nothing. Killian was like a child; always eager to please and learn but he had a wicked streak that scared most people. David was no exception. Killian scared the pants off of him.

As soon as David stepped into his office, Killian bolted from his chair clutching a pale orange folder and began waving it erratically in his direction. David blindly fiddled with his mail, sifting through the letters that he knew were all irrelevant to the business but he had acquired as junk mail nonetheless. Killian was wired wrong, highly strung, and the smallest thing set him off. With an inward sigh, David wondered what it had been now.

“They did it again!” Killian bellowed. “Those damn construction workers changed my plans to suit the building materials!” he crowed with a slightly red face.

“Good morning Killian,” David said calmly, not lifting his head from the welcome distraction of unopened mail bound for the company shredder. Killian stalked towards him and David lifted his heavy head to meet Killian’s stare.

“I swear to god Dave, they do it to me all the time!” Killian growled, flipping open the folder into his palm and leaning in to show David some photos of the building in progress. David took one of the glossy black and white stills he was handed and inspected it for the flaw Killian so enthusiastically protested.

“I don’t see the problem…” David began, handing Killian the photograph back and walking past him to his desk. The high back leather chair creaked a little when he settled into it and then rocked backward with David’s massive bulk. Killian seethed and grunted a breath of frustration.

“They are not using what I had specified in the plans,” Killian insisted, throwing the folder with more photographs onto the desk. The folder slid with a swishing sound towards David and was halted by his huge hand on the dark wood antique. Killian leaned over the desk and prodded his finger to a tiny spot on the photograph.

 

“These are the wrong bolts. They are saving money but shortening the life of the building,” Killian said angrily. David’s eyes shifted from his partners to the photograph again as he looked for the flaw Killian so desperately persisted with.

“It’s out of our hands Killian. We don’t build, we sculpt on paper,” David reclined into his chair and rested a lazy arm onto the leather bound armrest whilst pointing a short, blunt finger towards Killian with his other hand. “You said that my friend.”

Killian considered David’s words for a moment with a frown. This was the Killian that had just had his candy taken from him. This was the Killian who would be in a bad mood for the rest of the day and would skulk around the workplace with a scowl. This was the same old, unpredictable Killian. 

“Lighten up,” David suggested with a shrug. “We did our job, let the builders do theirs.”

“Fine,” Killian snapped, pulling the photographs back into the folder and straightening himself up. He tossed the photos into David’s trash basket and headed for the door. “If you don’t care about the reputation of this business…” he called, yanking the door open and letting it swing idly open as he stormed through the dark, mahogany archway and into the lobby.

“Wait a second,” David argued, jumping to his feet and rushing after Killian. He found him in the lobby, shucking off his jacket and replacing it with a high visibility vest that felt weightless against his high threaded white shirt. “You think I don’t care?” he shouted from his doorway, his own face flushing with red and his heartbeat pounding in his chest. Killian made him so angry sometimes. No wonder he was an only child.

Killian paused for a second after plucking a white hard hat from the same stand the vests were kept on. He hooked his hand through the adjustable strap and let it fall limp at his side. “You used to,” Killian said softly but bitterly and was gone, bolting down the stairs before David could interject. David inhaled and held his breath for a second, exhaling hard and shaking his head in disbelief.

“What’s upset him about this job?” Mary Margaret asked casually from behind the desk where she had sat silent all through the arguing. Her dark brown hair was in a short pixie bob, a side fringe almost touching her brow line. David’s head moved towards her and she let out a chuckle.

“Bolts.” David simply said, dumbfounded that such a small thing could make someone so angry. “Bolts!” he repeated with a laugh that made Mary Margaret smile before she resumed typing once again, the sound of the keys clicking easily drowned out by their combined hysterics.

\--

Emma’s temporary means of income was as she expected, community driven. Her boss had arranged for her to be temporarily transferred to the Storybrooke General Hospital as an attending in the ER. Emma knew she wouldn’t be in Storybrooke that long but when she stepped through the noisy automatic sliding doors of the emergency room, she was taken aback. Children cried in the waiting room, telephones rang constantly with only one elderly gentleman available to take the calls of the desperate, and the janitor currently cleaning up vomit in the reception area looked like he’d be more at home in a morgue. On the slab.

No one looked assertive, in charge or even remotely like a doctor. Only a few white coats littered the room that was stuffy, hot, even at the time of the year, and smelled like fermenting garbage. Emma clutched her handbag to her side instinctively, unsure of who, or what, might try their luck as she waded through the growing crowd of coughing people towards the elderly gentlemen on the desk. When she approached he looked up with small squinty eyes that were magnified behind his thick brown rimmed glasses.

“Yes?” he snipped, already fed up with his day at nine in the morning. Emma offered him a weak smile and stuttered slightly.

“Um…I am supposed to start here today on a temporary basis,” she said, unsure if anyone had been told about her arrival. The small man reminded Emma of a mole, regarded her closely, pausing with a cynical frown. Emma quickly retrieved her badge from the other hospital and handed it to him over the desk. A shaky, wrinkled hand took the square tag and he inspected it with caution before handing it back.

“Hey, Whale!” He called behind him with a ferociousness that scared Emma a little and she jumped back. Moles were not supposed to be fierce creatures. “Your new doctor is here!” he bellowed, giving her a smile of broken dentures and a wicked laugh that was quickly followed by the chesty cough of a smoker.

Victor Whale was medium height and handsome with a loose, curly mop of white blonde hair on top of his head and light sprinkling of dark stubble adorning his face. He wore glasses that were modern, chic and sat pronounced upon his face, the deep blue frames accented by the ocean blue of his eyes. As he walked towards her his off white coat flew open slightly to reveal a pair of tight, crotch hugging jeans and a light pink shirt that was buttoned loosely around his neck. He had a sway when he walked, distinctive of a certain sexual orientation and he extended a hand to Emma with a smile.

“Dr. Swan,” he sang in a squeaky voice. He was well spoken and had perfect teeth that glistened, even in the dim hospital lighting. Emma nodded and took his moisturized hand in hers, following his motion to shake it up and down before. “Ooo, love the shoes!” he squealed with a pinched expression and Emma laughed nervously. All the good-looking ones were gay nowadays.

The morning dragged on but to its credit, the busy rush of people kept Emma busy and she didn’t mind working for what seemed like longer. Emma wanted to help people, just like her father had, and even in the disruption and chaos of the Storybrooke ER, Emma saw beauty in everyone she treated. They made her smile, made her laugh and complimented her on her soft approach to medicine that, according to one frail old lady, was lacked by most of the other staff, apart from _‘the nice gay one’_.

Emma’s first patient was a problem. A small child with an attitude malfunction and a coin lodged in his throat. No amount of coaxing could get him to open his mouth and then his parents proceeded to argue with each other about how lousy they both were when it came to their custody times. The boy looked at Emma and rolled his six year old eyes before coughing the nickel back up and then gleefully vomiting onto the lap of his father. Emma smiled at the irony and the justice of the situation.

Her second patient was a little more vexing. Twenty-four-year-old Jessica Barnes had a swollen arm that was painful to touch and looked broken but unfortunately, Jessica could only utter one word; buttons. Her carer assured Emma that it had happened whilst she was interacting with other patients of the Storybrooke Asylum located ten minutes West of the hospital, but Emma suspected foul play. Her head still pounded from the volume of abuse that had been directed her way as security escorted the burly man in white away with Jessica screaming “buttons” at the top of her lungs.

On Emma’s first break, she snapped off her white, latex gloves with a rubbery twang and hurried to the staff lounge. The room was eerily quiet, so quiet that Emma could hear the faint buzz of silence in her ears. She made herself a strong coffee and settled into one of the hard plastic chairs that surrounded the round, white table with a sigh. Her head lolled forward and her forehead smacked onto the cool surface, her eyes pressed closed as she wallowed in the peace. It was however short lived.

“Dr. Swan,” a small, nervous voice called around the door and made her bolt upright and spin in her chair instantly. “We need your help,” the petite intern said shyly. It seemed all the other attendings had left the floor and part of being one was you had to be there for your interns. Even though the gaggle of new faces had nothing to do with Emma, she complied with a light smile and enquired about the nature of help needed.

“What wrong Thomas?” she sighed, trying not to sound too exhausted. The short man stood higher in the doorway having suddenly found more confidence than he had before. Apparently, he had drawn the short straw to interrupt the resting Dr. Swan, who was already known for her caring bedside manner and contradictory lightning tongue. Word sure did travel fast through this hospital.

“We have a patient who is causing a problem,” Thomas said timidly, his baby blue eyes blinking rapidly and his palms sweating.

“Are you even old enough to be a doctor?” Emma wondered out loud.

“Um…” Thomas stammered, fast turning red.

“Nevermind,” Emma sighed, pushing herself to her feet. “Tell me what seems to be the problem.” Thomas was about to respond when a gruff yelling interrupted her thoughts and inquisitiveness pulled her from her seat in a flurry.

“I don’t want to be here!” the man yelled, waving an arm out and batting a small nurse aside with his lean but strong arms when she tried to dab his wound. Blood trickled down his face from a huge slice across his scalp that was easily seen because a chunk of his previously perfect, black hair was missing too. He jumped off of the gurney, and immediately wobbled, eyes blinking rapidly to steady his vision. He was caught by two burly security guards who lifted him with ease and pinned him back onto the bed. “Get the fuck off of me!” he growled, gripping at the men with his fingernails. Neither flinched as they leaned on him.

“That’s enough! I won’t have that sort of language in my ER!” Emma bellowed, her voice turning dark and angry as she skimmed over the man’s chart in her hand which Thomas had handed her. She stepped into the cubicle and drew the curtain behind her to stop the prying eyes and craning necks from the waiting room before hearing the tell-tale buckle of restraints to the side of the bed.

“Please, don’t do that,” the man begged the security guards. “Please!” he called as they left the curtain with a smile towards Emma who acknowledged them with a nod of thanks. Emma dismissed Thomas and a nurse through the curtain once the man was restrained; they were needed in the busy rush of the midday ER traffic and Emma could handle one unruly businessman no problem. “Dr. please, I’m not crazy,” the man insisted softly, almost on a weeping whisper as he pulled against the padded cuffs without success.

Emma rested the chart to the table near to the bed and plucked two medium sized gloves from a pink and white box next to it. “Nobody said that. Ok, Killian, is it?” Emma asked the man, reading the name from the chart and appealing to his humanity with his first name. He didn’t reply. “Ok, Killian, I need to dress your head,” Emma’s voice trailed off when she finally lifted her head and took in the exhausted shell of a man that lay in front of her. 

Killian’s head lifted at the same time and their eyes met, dancing together in the florescent lighting of the exam room. He was gorgeous, there were no bones about it, and Emma felt a tingle in her spine and a flush in her cheeks. He held his breath, unable to say or do anything else but stare at the doctor who had instantly calmed him. Emma looked away first, clearing her throat and swallowing the mass down with a painful frown.

“I’m not crazy,” Killian repeated softly, holding up his restrained wrists and motioning his wrists towards Emma. “These are being wasted on me,” he smiled, making a joke out of the situation. “With a doctor as beautiful as you, I’m not running anywhere,” he smirked, never letting his gaze drop from hers, even when she turned away with another blush. Emma’s head tilted back and she let out a short burst of laughter, exaggerated for effect but hiding the nervous twang she knew her voice would have. “Come on,” Killian coaxed with a lopsided grin. “I promise I am not angry anymore.”

Emma didn’t know why but she found the charm of Killian Jones more than a little irresistible. His smile was alluring and his eyes were warm, welcoming, almost childlike in innocence. He relaxed in his cuffs with a sigh, turning his head sadly away from hers. “I’m not crazy,” he repeated.

“So you keep saying,” Emma said, moving to pull the tray closer to the bed and swivel herself onto a nearby stool. She rested there for a moment with her hands pressed together between her knees. Killian stared absently at the wall beside him, his eyes flickering backwards and forwards over the tiled wall. “So what are you, if you are not crazy?” Emma nudged with a gentle tone.

Killian didn’t look around. “I am a genius,” he said in no uncertain terms and swung his head to Emma. “I know things, calculate things, fabricate things,” he droned desperately but unconvincingly. “People just think I’m crazy because I scare them.” Emma’s eyebrows rose a little and she smiled sadly.

“Everything you have just told me tells me otherwise,” she said sadly, pushing herself from her stool and leaning over the raised silver rail of the bed to inspect Killian’s head. Killian clicked his tongue in his teeth, frustrated.

“I mean it, ask me anything,” he tried to prove his intellect but Emma shook her head and refocused on his oozing wound that was still bleeding and staining the crisp whiteness of his shirt. “Ask me a math problem,” Killian insisted with a flinch as Emma jabbed a long, sharp needled under the edge of his skin.

“You’re going to need stitches, Killian,” Emma said in a light voice that was apologetic to a certain degree. Killian pinched his eyes closed in frustration and sighed.

“Ask me!” he told her, turning his blood stained head to hers. Emma stopped with the needle of numbing agent posed above Killian’s head and the rubber gloved hand that had been cradling his head now rested on his cheek. Emma felt the warmth of his skin through her gloves and her hand lingered on his skin for what felt like a perfect fragment of time. Killian’s eyes met Emma’s and they were a steely blue colour that reminded her of her brother’s but with a darker undertone that made her apprehensive. Emma liked to think she was a good judge of character when it came to her patients but Killian was proving difficult to read. She sighed audibly, and humored him.

“Ok Killian, what’s the square root of…” she paused, looking at the ceiling for inspiration. Emma remembered once, while in college, she had been approached by a campus nerd (for want of a better term) who liked to try and score dates by his impressive knowledge of mathematical figures. His particular chat up line to Emma popped into her head – _‘Did you know the square root of 2654 is 51.51, to two decimal places?’_ – So she stole the failed musing of a probably now wealthy scientist and fired away. “…2654, to two decimal places?” Emma finished with a smug expression.

“51.51,” Killian breathed without hesitation and caught Emma’s look of shock as her jaw dropped open. “To two decimal places,” Killian panted, his blood cooling and his entire body relaxing when he realized he had convinced her. He offered her a small smile and shook her from her shock. “I told you,” he said, holding up his wrists once more. “I’m not crazy.”

Emma didn’t know what to do, call a shrink or release him. Her mouth hung open and she forgot to swallow temporarily, shaking her head in disbelief and stepping back from him. The lapel of Emma’s coat shuffled its position and Killian spied her name tag clearly clipped to her breast pocket. “I have a condition called Low Latent Inhibition, Emma,” he spoke softly with a calm understanding of how he must appear to her. It had been the same way all of his life. “So what do you say Dr. Swan?” he dipped his gaze lower to meet hers when it drifted to his restraints. He smiled and a chuckle escaped his lips. “You break me out of these cuffs and I’ll buy you a coffee.”


	2. Chapter 2

The hospital entrance was always busy, something Emma had found out early on in her short-lived time there. Storybrooke weather also never held up much of its end of the deal. All year it was unpredictable. One minute it might be raining and the streets flooding with the soft definitions of watery footsteps as people darted for cover and then the next it would be so hot you would rather walk around naked than be wearing any clothes. May was like the middle of the tumultuous weather’s reign and the afternoon sunshine shone onto the puddles of rain in the ambulance bay.

Killian had made a deal with the good Dr. Swan. In exchange for his freedom, he was required to sit on his bed for half of the day so she could keep him under observation. Apparently a blow to the head that severe must have warranted some kind of worry to seep into Emma’s mind because she wouldn’t even let him use the bathroom without supervision. Not that Killian minded; Emma had underseen his bathroom privileges personally and Killian had made sure he needed the toilet every thirty minutes, just so he could see her.

“You don’t have a jacket,” Emma told him matter of factly as they stepped through the huge, gliding, double-glazed automatic doors. The doors were made of glass and had the hospital’s name etched into them by laser cutting and they were activated by a sensor in a doormat of either side of the doorway.

“It’s fine, love,” Killian smiled at her, pushing his hands into his pockets as they strolled through the emergency section of the parking lot. The damp floor was potentially a danger in itself because each one of the yellow chevron lines became slippery when wet and no cars were allowed to park over it and cover the hazard. “I didn’t leave the office with a jacket this morning anyway,” he shrugged.

“Why’s that?” Emma enquired casually, gripping her paper cup full of cafeteria coffee that she could swear could melt steel. It was bitter to the point of repulsion and she would rather use it as a hand warmer than a thirst-quenching beverage.

“I was a little angry with something this morning. A little crazy,” he paused when she shot him a glance. “But not in the literal sense, don’t worry.” He smiled and Emma laughed a little, puffing condensed breath out in front of her.

“So how did you go from angry to ER?” Emma asked him, lifting her cup to her lips and taking a sip of the stagnant brown liquid.

“Ah that would have been Derek,” Killian chimed, taking a hand from his pocket as they walked and pointing to the air, waving his hand as he talked. “We don’t get along,” he finished simply. Emma chuckled through her nose and motioned to his head with a black gloved finger.

“You don’t say,” she teased. “What did he hit you with?” Emma asked with a more serious tone that made Killian a little suspicious of her questions.

Killian sucked in a breath and looked at her with a wry smile. “I’m not going to get the police involved, if that’s what you're asking me in your oh-so-subtle way doctor,” he quipped, watching his feet on the sidewalk as tiny splashes of rainwater splattered the front of his expensive black shoes. He turned his dipped head and caught her gazing at him with a worried expression. “It was my fault,” he assured her with a nod.

“So, you tripped and fell into his two by four?” Emma joked sarcastically with a frown. She was having a hard time understanding how twelve stitches, a blood encrusted scalp and a clearly expensive suit that was now ruined was Killian’s fault.

“Let’s just say I am a very difficult person to get along with,” Killian sighed, avoiding the glares from passing pedestrians that were staring at his blood spattered shirt and deep crimson collar. “And it was an iron bar,” he laughed. Emma erupted in a similar nervous laugh but she was unsure if he was joking and making light of the situation, or he was telling the truth. A silence fell between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable and was broken when they rounded a corner and entered the local park.

The park was almost empty this time of day. Children were heading home from school but they had missed the rush of teenage bodies and now only a few stragglers littered the damp, green grass. Old, heavy branches hung over the path as they walked through the well-kept grounds, shielding them from the sunshine and cooling their bodies with its shaded protection. In the cooler space, the path was free from the darkened patches of rain stains but there was a cold wind blowing through the tree and shaking some large droplets to the ground below. One freezing cold liquid drop slid from its leafy prison and hit Killian on the back of the neck, making him shiver and instantly wipe the water from his skin.

“So,” Killian began, shaking the excess fluid from his hand with a flick of his wrist. “How come I haven’t seen you around before?” He smiled as he turned to her and steered her gently by the elbow to take a seat next to him on a wooden, park bench. His grip was gentle and soft and Emma’s body complied with his request.

“How do you know you haven’t?” Emma quipped with a kinked eyebrow. Her mouth twitched as she tried to hide her smile and her coffee still radiated heat to her hands through her cup. She held it higher, closer to her mouth and inhaled the ghastly smell in an attempt to warm her lungs.

“I’d remember, love,” Killian beamed, turning sideways on the bench and resting his crooked arm over the backrest lazily.

“Is that a compliment?” Emma smiled at her cup, unable to look him in the eyes. She could feel him smiling at her, his eyes burning into her skin with an intensity she had only been able to imagine from reading romance novels. In an attempt to hide her own wistful smirk, Emma slurped her coffee and her face twisted with disgust at the liquid.

Killian didn’t answer her question but instead reached for her coffee and she relinquished it to him with little protest. He pulled it from her, a soft, wispy cloud of steam wafting from its rim as he moved it through the air and lifted it to his own face for a sniff. Emma giggled when Killian’s nose crinkled and he turned his head away from the coffee in repugnance, moving it away from his features and dropping it into the trash basket beside them with a rustle and a clatter.

“Hey!” Emma sang, elongating the word with a breathy laugh. “That was my coffee,” she told him.

“That was coffee?” Killian joked with a dramatic tone, his voice jumping to a higher pitch and his body lurching forward towards her with wide eyes and open smile. Emma’s body shook with laughter and Killian relished the sight of it. Her hair swished across her face and Emma quickly swiped a glove across her forehead and tucked it back behind her ear.

“I make do with what I can get,” Emma said when her laughter subsided. There was an implication in her voice and her eyes lingered on Killian’s face for what seemed like an age. When he lifted his head and his blue pools invaded hers, she didn’t look away and she didn’t lose her smile.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Killian said softly, shuffling across the bench so he was a little closer to Emma. Their knees bumped together and Killian inhaled hard.

“Good, you owe me a coffee,” Emma returned in a passive whisper. Killian let out a chuckle that Emma joined in with.

“No, not that,” Killian spoke low and his smile faded. He reached up with his arm that hung limp of the back of the bench and brushed a missed hair from Emma’s face. Her hair was soft and warm and had a shine, even in the dull shade of the trees. Killian’s skin was cool on Emma’s forehead and in the most comfortable of circumstances, Emma drifted away from where they sat, lost in his tenderness. “You are beautiful,” Killian breathed seriously, finally tucking the stray strand of golden curls behind her ear and brushing Emma’s skin to life.

Emma blushed and looked away to her hands that sat obediently in her lap. Killian withdrew his hand and cleared his throat with a nervous cough, shifting his position on the bench and rubbing his hands down his thighs in an attempt to warm his skin. He swallowed hard. He didn’t want to apologise for possibly overstepping a mark; Killian couldn’t find fault in what he had done. Emma was beautiful, perfectly constructed and as aesthetically pleasing as anything he had ever laid his eyes on.

“You’re right,” Killian said suddenly, sucking in a breath, slapping his knees and pushing himself to his feet. Emma looked up at him with surprise, her reddened cheeks now just a shimmer of pink across her face that could have easily been from the cold wind.

“About what?” Emma asked him with a frown, her head tilting back to take in his chilled figure standing before her.

“I owe you a coffee.” He smiled and offered her an outstretched palm. “Come on,” Killian urged her to take his hand with a gentle drone that was inviting. Emma smiled weakly, her embarrassment fading away as she reached out and took Killian’s hand and let him pull her to stand in front of him. Even though she was wearing gloves, when Killian’s long, slender fingers curled around hers, Emma felt a spark shooting through her body. She tingled everywhere, and she flushed hot in her thick, black, full-length jacket that was buttoned to the green scarf at her neck.

“Where are we going?” Emma enquired with a tilted head as she fell into step beside Killian. He pulled her along for a few seconds before letting her hand fall to their side, his hand sliding from hers slowly and tentatively. Emma glanced between them and Killian’s hand lingered between them, hovering millimeters from hers and Emma wished her gloves were gone so she could feel Killian’s skin brushing hers. When her eyes returned to his profile, he was looking at her with a cocksure smile.

“It’s a surprise!” He grinned, seized her hand in his with a tight grip and broke into a sprint as they headed for the entrance to the park.

Emma had never felt so relaxed and strangely happy as Killian dragged her along the sidewalk, much to the frustration of many upper classed business people walking against them. Emma neglected to see where they were, just assuming Killian was taking her to a corner shop cafe where they would talk over a chipped cup and saucer, laugh and act like two people who had known each other for years. For some reason, Emma felt like that with Killian. She had only known him a day, and they hadn’t met under the best circumstances, but now he was calmer and Emma was physically melted by his smile. She felt like she had known him all her life.

Killian’s feet pounded the pavement as he tried to stop himself at the edge of a street corner. Emma gasped for breath and her skin itched, hot and slightly sweaty in her winter jacket. Killian panted hard and his lungs burned. Tiny beads of sweat began to roll down his neck and were stained pink by the dried blood on his skin by the time they reached his shirt. He doubled over, clutching his knees as he breathed in deeply and grabbed at his diaphragm that threatened to explode in his abdomen.

“What now?” Emma panted, intrigued as to why he had stopped so suddenly.

“We’re here,” Killian said triumphantly, standing and expanding his arms out like wings before turning to face the establishment. Emma followed his gaze and her mouth dropped agape with shock.

“This is _Chez Rogue_ …” Emma breathed with a questioning tone to herself, unsure if she believed where she was. Emma took two steps back and her wide stare took in the front of the restaurant. Huge, black iron bars that were cemented into a cobblestone wall separated the restaurant from the empty lot of one side and an alleyway on the other. Petite, neatly pruned hedges sat in another brickwork flower box and an A-frame chalkboard stood outside the door with a printed message on it, clearly displaying a welcome message to its patrons. Well, Emma assumed it was a welcome message; it was in another language.

As Emma lifted her head to take in the massive American flag that hung on a long, shiny golden pole she didn’t notice two executives exit the restaurant. They headed towards her and surprised her, making her stumble sideways and into Killian. He offered the two men in three thousand dollar suits an excited, childlike smile and pulled Emma aside.

“Killian, this is _Chez Rogue_ ,” Emma repeated, not quite believing how she had ended up in this part of town. It was the part she only dreamed of going to, where there was nothing but limousines nose to tail on the roads and a gaggle of personal assistants followed every businessman or woman down the sidewalk with a quick step. Emma’s eyes met Killian’s again when he took her hand and shook her from her daydream.

“I know,” he said as he beamed and pulled her towards the restaurant. Emma slipped her hand from Killian’s and he froze, turned to look at her without his wide smile and frowned. “Emma?” he asked.

“We can’t go in there,” Emma laughed nervously.

“Why not?” Killian asked seriously. Emma looked at him dumbfounded and he looked back at her with utter confusion. “It’s just a restaurant,” Killian chuckled and grabbed for her hand once more. Emma let him take her hand but resisted his efforts to pull her nearer to the door.

“It’s not just a restaurant Killian. It is _the_ restaurant. Famous people eat here!” Emma exclaimed and Killian rolled his head towards the door as she looked around nervously. He turned back towards her and scrunched his face up playfully.

“They do?” he teased with a smile and a gentle tug on her arm. Emma’s shoulders slumped and she sighed audibly at him. For all his charm and finesse, Killian Jones was an ass. “Trust me, love, it will be fine,” he said softly, stroking his thumb across her knuckles and inching her forward with tentative steps. “If anything happens that makes you feel weird…” he started but Emma cut him off, eager for his response.

“Yes?” Emma quipped quickly.

“If anything happens we can leave,” Killian told her but Emma looked unconvinced they would even get past the door. “And I’ll never bring you here again,” he promised, his voice low and sultry as he eyed her innocently.

“What makes you think I will go out with you again?” Emma said with a twisted grin. Killian pulled her a little more so they were nearly touching, body to body, ridiculously thick winter jacket to hardly clothed man.

“You will,” he whispered confidently. “Now come on.” Killian pulled away from her, taking the protection Emma wished for back immediately and leading them into the restaurant.

Inside, the restaurant was almost empty. It wasn’t silent, there was some sort of music playing throughout the lavishly decorated restaurant that reminded Emma how lost she was in the place. Her footsteps were silent underfoot, easily disguised by the thick fibers of the brass trimmed, ruby carpet that led up to the reception. A tall, slender man with dark hair that was combed to one side and had abnormally perfect, straight white teeth watched the desk.

“Mr. Jones, how may we help you today?” The man said in a high-pitched voice with a lisp, clearly addressing Killian but taking in Emma’s appearance and deciding against offering Killian his usual table for one. Emma’s head whipped up and focused on Killian who gave her a pure, innocent look and a small squeeze to her hand.

“Good afternoon James,” Killian said smoothly, addressing the name tag lacking maître d′ as if he was a seasoned friend. “Table for two, if you’d be so kind.” Killian smiled and nodded his head at the smiling employee.

“Certainly Mr. Jones, right this way,” James said calmly and lifted two red leather-bound menus from a rack behind him as he breezed past and motioned for Killian and Emma to follow him with a flat palm. James showed them to a table in the corner of the restaurant that was well lit but private, with little way for foot traffic to interrupt them. Killian pulled Emma’s chair out from under the round, heavy mahogany table and she sat, crossing her legs and allowing Killian to shuffle her chair forward again. James offered her a menu and she took it with a smile and a courteous thank you.

Killian hurriedly took up the seat opposite her and ignored the menu James had left at his side. Emma let her own menu fall open to the crisp, white tablecloth that pooled over her knees. She unbuttoned her coat and slid it down her arms, hooking it over the back of the wooden chair that was probably older than she was and cost more then she made in a month. She pulled her scarf from her neck, loosening it and hanging it over the top of her coat. She finally sat forward in her chair, and shook a few strands of her hair from her milky features, tucking them neatly behind her ear. Killian watched her entire display; fascinated by how she moved and adding her little quirks to a mental list he had been compiling all day.

For example, Dr. Swan always made sure her name tag was turned around at work so that problem patients couldn’t pick her out for misconduct, even where there had been none. She was right handed but always used her left hand to steady the paper when she wrote, which she did with a tilt of her head and a squint in her eyes. When she felt cold, Killian had noticed that Emma used a hot beverage to warm her hands, rarely even drinking it unless it was a welcome distraction. And now, her last act of self-preservation was a quick flick of her neck and a smoothing of yellow locks from her face, which she finished off with a smile each time.

“What?” Emma asked Killian, smoothing the top of her head flat when she caught him staring at her. Killian blinked and shook his head from side to side in short bursts of motion.

“Nothing, love,” he lied with a smile. “You’re just…” he inhaled deeply and could have sworn she used apple scented shower gel.

“I’m what?” Emma pried, leaning back in her chair and resting her hands to the white tablecloth in front of her.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re nervous,” Killian’s voice was low and almost husky in the corner of the empty restaurant. Emma snorted with laughter but had no time to respond as James returned with an electronic notepad in one hand and a thin, silver touch screen stylus in the other.

“Are you ready to order Mr. Jones?” he enquired politely, tapping in some details onto the screen with the pen like implement. Killian moistened his lips and sat forward, catching Emma’s attention.

“Yeah, um…” Killian paused and looked at Emma whose smile almost disintegrated his heart. “I owe this lovely lady a coffee,” Killian told the waiter without tearing his eyes from Emma’s. Emma smiled softly, unable to stop, but she was forced to look away when James interrupted their gazing match.

“Of course,” he chimed on a burst of breath. “Would madam like a short black, long black, Latte, Ristretto, Doppio, Cappuccino, Macchiato, Flat white or Mocha?” James said quickly, knowing the list from memory, and not missing a single beat as he almost sang the list.

“I uh…I don’t know,” Emma stuttered and stared at him, mystified and amazed by his ability to remember such a complex list of coffees, the only one of which she had heard of being a Cappuccino. Emma glanced at Killian for help but he just smiled.

“Bring her one of everything,” Killian ordered and James nodded, tapped on his screen a few times and them scurried away. Emma’s eyes fell onto the menu before her and her entire body flushed hot and her palms began to sweat.

“Killian, the cheapest coffee on this menu is twenty-five dollars,” Emma whispered, her eyes wide and jittery in their sockets. Killian smiled at her softly and leaned forward, taking one of her hands in his.

“Don’t worry about it,” Killian assured her. “I owe you,” he added simply, tracing his index finger over the back of her hand. Emma’s skin was smooth and unblemished and Killian couldn’t resist turning it over in his own and continuing his playful line tracing over her more sensitive palm.

“Yeah, a cheap, machine made coffee, Killian,” Emma insisted. “One, cheap machine made coffee. Not nine, expensive, foreign coffees! I can’t afford these prices,” she fretted, her voice low and breathy on the tablecloth that was inches from her face as she tried to hide from the staff. Killian leaned forward so their noses were almost touching, mimicking her.

“I don’t expect you to pay for anything,” Killian whispered, shooting a glance over Emma’s shoulder as James approached them. “Emma, do you think I could walk into any restaurant covered in blood with my head stapled shut? I am a valued customer,” he added proudly, sitting back upright and greeting the tray of coffees as they arrived balanced on the hand of James.

Killian insisted Emma try every single coffee they had ordered, not that Emma didn’t feel inclined to. Three hundred and ten dollars later, Emma had discovered that her favourite kind of coffee was called Macchiato. Served in a white, porcelain demitasse cup, it was essentially an espresso shot dashed with hot milk. Its creamy bitterness slid down Emma’s throat and left a remarkably enjoyable taste on her tongue. Killian didn’t touch anything in the restaurant that afternoon, choosing to simply sit across from Emma, reclined in his chair with a loosely balled fist resting on the table and a permanent smile on his face.

Emma couldn’t believe that with Killian’s appearance they had even been let in, let alone served. When Killian walked Emma home in the Storybrooke darkness, they laughed and joked all the way to her mother’s house. The air had fallen heavy with a cold snap, instantly falling in atmospheric pressure and making it a little harder for Emma to catch her breath when laughing. How Killian managed to get her to laugh so much was beyond her; she was usually so reserved, professional and certainly didn’t allow men she had met at work, as a patient no less, to walk her home.

“Are you joking?” Killian laughed, rounding the rickety gate behind Emma, finishing his converse. “I could walk into that restaurant naked and I’d get served,” he chimed and Emma couldn’t help but wonder if he ever had. “Wow,” Killian breathed, his damp condensed breath taking its time to evaporate from the air. His jaw shook slightly and made his teeth chatter as the brisk, nighttime chill seeped into his bones. “You live here?” he asked, his tone obviously that of surprise as she scaled the concrete steps.

“I do,” Emma told him proudly. “I inherited it from my mother recently,” Emma said with a sad tone. She hung her head slightly and fiddled idly with the door key pressed into her palm. Killian stepped forward, reached out and hooked a bent finger under her chin. Lifting Emma’s head slightly he offered her a weak smile.

“I’m sorry,” Killian told her with sincerity. His hand slid from her chin to cup the side of her face and he brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. Emma’s hand gripped at his and she leaned her head into his touch.

“It’s okay,” Emma said with a nod, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall at the mere mention of her mother. She sighed and a silence fell upon them where neither knew what to say. Killian was the first to speak, returning the mood to a lighter tone of flirting and playfulness. 

“So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow then, at nine,” he smiled wickedly, pulling his hand from Emma’s skin and resting it back inside his pocket as he bobbed on his feet to keep warm. Emma looked at him quizzically with a frown.

“You will? What for?” she barely managed to ask through her smile.

“Our date, love,” Killian said with blatant, unashamed forwardness. “Wear something sexy,” he almost growled.

“Sexy, eh? Where are we going?” Emma enquired casually as he stepped away from her to stand on the step below hers. Killian turned and looked up at her like an expectant child.

“My place. I’m cooking,” Killian told her, swallowing as she stepped forward and peered down at him.

“So why sexy?” Emma breathed through her smile.

“It goes with my décor.” Killian grinned and Emma cupped his face in her warm hands and leaned forward to plant a soft, lingering closed mouth kiss to his cool lips. Killian’s hands slid from inside his pockets and rested gently on Emma’s elbows, making her skin prickle to life. He pulled away first and waited for Emma’s heavy lidded eyes to flutter open before he smiled at her again. “What was that for?” he asked her, surprised.

“For today,” Emma said, sliding her hands down his neck, across his shoulders and bringing them to rest on his blood stained shirt covering his chest. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, giving him a little push and a coy smile as she turned and walked to her front door, leaving him standing on the steps that had begun to glisten with the tiniest traces of a springtime frost.


	3. Chapter 3

The elevator ride to the company floor was quick, but as far as David saw it, it was too quick. The elevator was like his secret haven away from the office, the construction sites and most of all, Killian. The main reason they were friends and able to call themselves best friends was that they gave each other space. They didn’t live in each other’s pockets, chat on the telephone all day or treat each other with a brotherly nature, but they knew each other and that was what a real friendship was.

The chime of the elevator was loud and David lifted his sleeve slightly and shot a quick glance at his watch. It was eight and Killian would certainly be, without a doubt, seated in David’s high backed chair with his trademark scowl and pouty expression. The doors of the tiny metal box pulled apart of silent runners, disappearing into the wall and David stepped into the air-conditioned office. As always, Mary Margaret was there before him and handed him a bundle of letters and parcels over the high front of her desk.

“How long?” David asked with a sigh, flicking through his mail. Mary Margaret glanced behind her towards the white, circular, generic clock that hung on the wall and ticked the day away. 

“About fifteen minutes,” she said. “And he has already demanded to speak to you about Derek,” Mary Margaret added without looking at him, her gaze on the screen in front of her. David inhaled deeply and sighed, rubbing his temples with a giant hand and resting his elbow on Mary Margaret’s desk. David knew what had happened yesterday because the foreman of the site, the ever elusive Derek, had called in a complaint. Apparently, Killian had flown at him over bolts, yelling to his entire crew about their incompetence and in his defense, Derek had thrown a chunk of iron towards Killian who at the exact same time felt the need to remove his hard hat. Oh, and please could they not fire him?

Mary Margaret offered David one last smile of good luck as he dragged his tired body towards his office. The door opened easily, too easily for David’s liking. A distraction to keep him from Killian today would have been welcomed with open arms, but he pushed on with the day. Killian’s head snapped up from another beige folder full of updated pictures and he offered David an unusually cheerful smile. David eyed him suspiciously while he removed his black, pinstripe jacket and hung it on the black wooden rack in his office.

“Something wrong?” He asked hesitantly, stepping towards his desk and Killian who was perched with his feet up on David’s desk. Killian shook his still bloody head and pushed himself up and out of David’s chair. He motioned for David to sit down and he did, slowly and cautiously, while Killian took up residence in a small, less important chair opposite. “Why not?” he queried with a cocked head.

“Why would something be wrong?” Killian asked him as if yesterday had never happened. David shot him look of utter confusion and fell back into his chair. He frowned and rested his head on his arm that was bent and leaned awkwardly on his molded plastic chair arm.

“You remember yesterday, right?” David approached gently. Killian’s smile widened and David frowned harder, his eyebrows knitting together on his forehead. Maybe Killian didn’t remember yesterday, maybe he had been knocked in the head so hard it had physically affected his personality. Maybe David was thinking wishfully.

“Of course!” Killian exclaimed cheerfully, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he recalled Emma kissing him and the feel of her lips on his. “Yesterday was…” he paused, looking to the ceiling for the right words. David’s mouth hung open slightly, expectantly. 

“It was what?” David shook him from his daydream, expecting Killian to start ranting about Derek at any minute. Killian fidgeted in his chair for a few seconds, inspected the shoddily made swivel action with a meticulous eye. David watched him, a little apprehensive and unable to anticipate the next action of the strange creature before him. Killian Jones would complain about the craftsmanship of his chair and unable to settle his mind about it, would offer to fix it.

“This chair’s a bit wobbly, don’t you think?” Killian asked him, his figure hunched over and his nimble fingers fiddling with a few screws under the seat. 

“Killian!” David screeched, his low, rumbling voice shaking Killian back into his upright position. Killian stared at him with wide eyes that darted around the room in mock suspicion.

“What?” he asked innocently. David ground his teeth and lurched forward in his chair.

“What was yesterday?” he reminded Killian of his question and Killian’s smile broke out again as he pushed himself from his chair and made his way across to the huge, tinted window panes of David’s office. Killian sucked in another bone reaching breath, grinning out across to the city that hurriedly continued below.

“Yesterday was amazing,” he breathed, not looking at David. David regarded him with the kind of look someone would give a man walking down the street half naked with tin foil wrapped around his head to stop alien communications.

“Amazing?” David asked, shocked by his answer of complete idiocy. 

“Yes,” Killian confirmed, pushing his hands into the deep pockets of his freshly pressed pants and balling his fist, holding onto the feel of Emma on his hands. The way her hair swept across her face, the way her eyes glistened in little or no light because she was radiant by herself, and most of all, the way she felt to touch. To lightly brush the sweeping hair from her delicate skin was like no other experience and Killian had found himself making hand love to Emma’s hair on more than one occasion.

David shook his head in disbelief. “You do realize you got hit in the head, right?” David asked him in a serious tone, pointing to his head that was still stained red around his hairline. Open wounds like his should not get wet for a few days, don’t you know.

Killian’s head swung to David’s and he nodded. “I did!” Killian declared wide-eyed and with a shockingly loud tone that made David jump. Killian rushed to the side of David’s desk and gripping hold of one dark wooden handle, pulled the top draw of David’s desk open and pulled out a piece of paper hurriedly. He quickly scanned David’s desk for a pen before leaning uncomfortably over his friend and plucking it from the edge of the desk, putting it to the paper with a concentrative focus.

“What are you doing?” David shook his hands at Killian as he scribbled on the paper.

“Writing Derek a thank you note,” Killian beamed and continued to scrawl away. David’s face was a picture of confusion. For some reason, he was the only sane person in the office right now because Killian had obviously lost a few marbles when he was whacked yesterday. 

“Okay, this is too weird,” David started, his words quick and edgy as he reached for the pen in Killian’s hand and yanked it from him so he could grab his attention. Killian looked at him with a protesting glare but didn’t have time to respond before David started talking again. “What’s wrong with you today?” David asked seriously.

“Nothing,” Killian said, holding out his hand for the pen that David did not give back. “Why?”

“Why?!” David repeated, his voice jumping an octave and his eyebrows equally as high on his face. “Killian, you’re acting all…normal!” he proclaimed. “I’ve only ever seen you like this once, in college when…” David trailed off and narrowed his eyes at Killian.

“What?” Killian asked him, standing straight and stepping back a few steps as David stood up from his chair with a quick push of the arms and filled the space where Killian was previously standing.

“You’ve met someone!” David said accusingly, pointing a finger directly at him. Killian’s lips twitched but he couldn’t contain his dreamy smile.

“Maybe,” he said gingerly with a blush.

“Maybe nothing,” David bellowed in a schoolboy tone of excitement. “You’ve got a girlfriend,” He teased and Killian laughed, unable to hide his happiness anymore. “So, tell me everything.” David accented each word. “Wait, is she hot? Of course, she’s hot and she probably melted when she saw you, right?” David grinned and nudged Killian with his elbow.

“A gentleman never tells,” Killian laughed embarrassed. 

“Oh come on,” David coaxed suddenly finding his inner teenager. “Don’t tell me you spent all day with her and you didn’t get anything?”

“Who said I’d spent all day with her?” Killian smirked, diverting the conversation a little.

“If she spent even a second in your company she deserves a medal,” David joked with a grin. “So come on, tell me.”

Killian simply grinned, reaching behind his ear and scratching lightly at the downy hair that grew there. He inhaled and held his breath, contemplating his next words with the utmost care and due diligence so that David would be somewhat jealous and leave him wanting more details. Killian smiled. “We had coffee,” he said with implication and turned to leave David’s office with a quick step.

David’s face fell in shock, his jaw hanging open and his previously mischievously hunched posture standing rigid and to attention. “I bet you did,” David quipped and winked at Killian. Killian’s laughter sounded in the office and David’s soon joined him. At the front desk, Mary Margaret’s head snapped up from her computer screen and she eyed David’s office door with an uneasy frown. She had never heard Killian laugh before and it was unsettling.

“So, when are you seeing...what did you say her name was again?” David asked as he moved to take residence behind his desk again. The folder Killian was fumbling through when he walked in intrigued him now. If there was nothing to complain about, someone at the site must have a guilty conscious about Killian’s head. Or they were scared of losing their jobs. David picked up the beige folder and eyed the photographs with a tilted head.

“Emma,” Killian said dreamily. “And tonight. We have a date,” Killian said, almost proudly. David smiled to himself but continued to look through the pictures.

“Well, have fun with that,” he said with a dismissive tone, glancing at his watch on his wrist. “But right now, we need to get some work done,” he told Killian as if they had swapped roles for the day.

“Yeah, right, work,” Killian said blandly, his spirits dampening and sinking slightly. He glanced at his own watch and sighed. There were ten hours left until he saw Emma. Ten hours too many.

\--

Emma couldn’t stop smiling. She had been smiling all day at work, much to the annoyance of most of the patients who seemed in genuine pain. Emma had never apologized so many times to so many different people for simply smiling. It was kind of silly, schoolgirl behaviour at best, but Emma couldn’t wait for the day to end. Her eyes were on the clock more times than her charts but she did stop looking at it once, albeit briefly, to wonder if Killian was spending his day the same way.

Unfortunately for Emma, when there was something she was really looking forward to, the days dragged on. Today was extending itself for two reasons. One was her date with Killian, the ever so suave, charming and very, very sexually explicit patient. The guy should come with a health warning, she was sure. An R rating at the least. Of course, now he was an outpatient, so it was fine for them to actually have the date he had planned. Emma couldn’t believe her luck. Dashingly handsome with a smile that could melt the glaciers, and he cooked. Emma’s heart skipped a beat just thinking about him.

Secondly, today was a Friday. Fridays were, according to statistics, known for being the longest feeling days of the week. Irony stated that if you had an important engagement, it would fall on a Friday. Unless you had said Friday off of work, then the hours would fly by but your date would probably cancel until the next day you were working. 

Also a Friday factor was the daunting task of catching a train home. In rush hour. When every other intern, attending and person within a five mile radius of the hospital with a work permit, decided to travel home. Today, Emma had walked straight into the longest queue to get home, catching the laden train and making the agonizing five minute journey to her local station in just under forty minutes. Not to mention the train was packed, filled to the brim with every single class of civilian imaginable.

As she swayed against a rounded pole, the red paint chipped from the many hands that had gripped at it before her, she observed her fellow man. There was the coffee guy; tall, square jawed with shoulders to make a doorway tremble, he sat and read a broadsheet tabloid with a large Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino gripped tightly in one hand. There was a pregnant lady, rubbing her swollen abdomen as she gazed lovingly out of the window into the fading sunset, not caring about her shabby train journey, as long as her unborn was safe. 

And then there was the unmistakable, scraggly beard of a bum every train should not leave the station without. A homeless guy was the most notable out of all of Emma’s observations. Hunched over at the far end of the carriage with personal hygiene that definitely left something to be desired, he clutched at a brown paper bag and lazily scratched his greying beard every once in a while. He caught Emma looking for a second and flashed her a wide, black toothed grin, which she returned forcefully and averted her stare, wondering just how so many of the dispossessed even made it onto a train without fare.

When Emma got home, to her somehow cozy miniature mansion, she had again glanced at the clock and noted the time at seven thirty. Making a mental note never to take the train home at rush hour again, Emma ignored her craving for the simple pleasure of coffee and headed straight for her bedroom. Her black sweater was yanked over her head, disrupting the careful placement of each tendril of hair and leaving it static and her scalp tingling. Next was her white blouse, the generic sign of professionalism, which was reduced to a crumpled messy heap on the edge of her bed in no time.

Emma had worked up a sweat, panting as she whizzed around her bedroom in her uncoordinated underwear and bright pink socks – less professional but no one saw them at work really. She nearly toppled over when she leaned forward, braced herself on her bedpost, and pulled eagerly at her socks, leaving them in a messy pile beside her bed. For a second Emma wondered if she could be classed as a slob, but then reassured herself that the aforementioned title was reserved for middle aged men with beer guts who sat at home watching _Jerry Springer_ reruns and ranting about how hot the damn weather was, even in a wife beater and their y-fronts. Shaking the thought from her mind, Emma headed for the en suite bathroom her mother had installed in her room when she was sixteen.

Emma’s bathroom was the total opposite to the rest of her room. Her room was her sanctuary, it always had been, and as such, it was required to be kept in some sort of organized disarray. The bathroom was neat, everything had its place and it was sparkling clean. The white tiles were made brighter by the high wattage bulb that hid casually behind a frosted glass dome, screwed flush with the ceiling. The fixtures were all chrome, with rounded handles and the words accenting the temperature of the water on top of them. Hot was written in red, and Cold in blue. Next to the basin was the shower unit; a square, frosted glass cubicle with rounded edges and a magnetic shutting door that opened with a slight swishing sound.

Emma had shed her hideous laundry day bra at the door, having kept her sexy little black lace and red ribbon number for tonight (just in case), and stepped from her gaudy pink panties. With a flick of her ankle, they were sent sliding across the black and white tiled floor to join her bra and Emma closed the cubicle door behind her with a dull thud. The shower was already warmed when she turned it on and the droplets beat down of her skin like a thousand tiny hands massaging her aching body.

Emma let her head fall backward and the sound of water hitting the flooring stopped. Instead, it pounded silently upon her face and soaked her hair, turning it a deep shade of dirty blonde and sticking it to her shoulders. Emma inhaled deeply, open mouthed and eyes pressed firmly closed when the torrent of water hit her face. Her hands pushed the wave of water down her face and it warmed her entire body as it slid over her skin, making her dusky nipples jut out into the steam filled booth. 

Clear pools of liquid clung to her skin but were instantly turned into white rimmed bubbles when Emma’s swept a soap filled sponge over her skin. Emma’s feet stuck to the floor, turning cool when the water pooled around them and could not find a gap to squeeze underneath her soles. She shifted her position, turning herself and letting the water wash off the suds down her front helped by a smooth hand that followed the trail of water down her chest, over her stomach and off the side of her hip.

As if having the most welcoming and divine shower in the world wasn’t enough, Emma’s mind found its way back to the day before. She wondered if Killian had bathed his head yet, at least combing the crusty blood from his delectable, black hair. Then she wondered if Killian had bathed. Just bathed, in the general sense of a man taking a shower, or a hot bath, and running his hands over himself like she was now. What did he look like naked? Not that it mattered to her because if his perfect smile and a hint of glee in his ocean blue eyes didn’t tell her his naked form was a work of art, she didn’t know what would.

Emma’s eyes fluttered closed and she felt Killian’s hands on her body, rubbing their red hot fingertips over her shoulders, down her arms and sliding around her stomach. Her head lolled sideways and in her mind, the space was filled with Killian’s head and the scorching inundation of water against her skin was replaced with Killian’s lips. Equally as hot, equally as wet. His generous amount of imaginary stubble tickled Emma’s skin and she smiled with a breathy laugh. Imaginary Killian smiled against her skin and his hands slid lower down her body, wordlessly invading her lightly haired mound and teasing her sex with the promise of invasion.

In reality, Emma was working up her own body, slowly dragging her smooth fingertip back and forward across her opening, which was tensing and nipping at her fingertips, trying to pull her deeper. In paradise, she was just a pawn, helpless to Killian’s touch as he invaded her threshold and began stroking her to ecstasy with long, talented fingers. His breath was ragged on her shoulder, constantly tasting the skin as he watched himself torture her magnificently, holding her behind to his throbbing erection and smoothing his one free hand over her stomach that fluttered below the surface.

Suddenly, imaginary Killian, his imaginary hands of pleasure and his imaginary body pressed up against hers disappeared. Emma’s eyes shot open and she quickly turned the water off, turning her head slightly and straining to hear a noise from her bedroom. The noise was faint but unmistakably the high pitch squeal of a bell. Her cell phone was ringing. Muttering some plea to her cell phone, Emma stepped from the shower unit and grabbed a towel as she ran out of the bathroom. Water dripped from her body and two soggy footprints applied themselves to the magnolia of her bedroom carpet. Emma frantically wiped her hand against her towel clad leg and plucked her cell phone from her purse with a clammy hand.

“Hello?” She panted into the mouthpiece quickly, clutching her towel to her bosom when it threatened to fall.

“Whoa, easy on the heaving breathing, love. Busy?” Killian chuckled in a low, Emma-melting voice. Her posture relaxed, her face slid into a smirk and she let out a small laugh.

“No,” she said simply, her tone light and giddy as she whispered her response. “What’s up?” She enquired, hoping to shift the focus of the conversation away from her pace of breathing and find out Killian’s reason for calling. Emma looked to the clock at the side of her bed. It was eight so her heart thundered in her chest and all she could think about was excuses for canceling.

“Listen, about tonight,” Killian began apologetically and Emma’s skin prickled with heat. Her heart sank in her chest, hitting the floor and smashing into a million metaphorical pieces. “I was thinking, maybe I could cook at your place instead of mine?” Killian's voice was addictive to Emma’s ears and she swallowed a lump in her throat.

“My place?” Emma asked, really just to make sure he was serious about coming to hers. Her eyes darted around her bedroom. Damn, she was a slob. “Um…” she stalled but Killian cut her off.

“It’s alright if not. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Killian soothed. “But how ready are you, because I might start dinner early. You like pasta, right? And red wine?” Killian rambled into the phone and Emma had a hard time answering between questions. The silence in her empty house was shattered when the doorbell chime resonated through the house.

“Um…Pasta is great,” She said quickly, flashing a look towards her door where the doorbell chimed again. “Hold on, Killian, I have to answer the door,” Emma said slightly annoyed as she gripped the edge of her towel and peered over the banister rail towards the door. A tall figure shuffled sideways outside and all Emma could see through the two long glass panels of the front door was shadows.

“Who is it?” Killian asked darkly, concern lacing his voice. Emma frowned a little as she made her way down the stairs.

“I’m not sure, probably my brother,” Emma said slowly and quietly, reaching the end of the stairs and laying her hand on the over used door latch. It clicked open effortlessly and Emma opened the door an inch, peering out into the darkness at the figure who spun to face her with a grin. Emma shifted her weight sideways and pulled the door open a bit more, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“Who is it?” Killian repeated with a smirk.

“I have to go,” Emma told him with a permanent smile she couldn’t seem to shift. “My date is here.” She quirked an eyebrow and ended the call, Killian mirroring her actions, and taking a deep, excited breath, he grinned.

“Wow…” he stammered, flickering his eyes up and down Emma’s half naked body. “Swan, you look…” Her hair still clung to her skin, dark and swollen with water that trickled down the center of her back only to disappear, absorbed by the fluffy white towel. “I know I said sexy but…wow…” Killian blinked and Emma’s cheeks flushed with pink.

“Yeah well,” She began, looking herself up and down and smoothing the edge of the towel flat against her skin. “White goes with everything, right? I wasn’t sure what colour your apartment was decorated.”

Killian’s eyes met hers after one more tasteful roaming over her body and he laughed. “I can’t say that I can remember at this precise moment in time,” he winked. Emma’s lips twitched and she averted her eyes quickly.

“You’re early, and I’m not ready,” Emma scolded him lightly, moving a hand from the door to rest it on her hip after motioning him into her house. As she closed the door behind him he inhaled the scent of her shower gel that still lingered, in all its cucumber and aloe glory, on her skin. “My house is a mess.” Emma told him, unembarrassed and still wearing the smile his arrival had left her with.

“Well, why don’t you show me where your kitchen is so I can go begin dinner?” Killian held up a bag of groceries. The white bag rustled and a bottle clinked inside. “How does a nice spinach and tomato tagliatelle pasta with a Pinot Noir sound?” he beamed at her, watching a solitary drip of water disappear between her breasts.

“That sounds delicious,” Emma said softly. “But…” she interjected; taking the bag from him and setting it on the telephone stand nearby. Killian watched her every move, a jolt traveling through his body when Emma’s lightly moisturized skin brushed against his and his salivary glands worked double time to keep his mouth moist as she took a step closer.

“But?” he croaked, letting his gaze slip for a second as he swallowed and reached out a hand to the fine Egyptian cotton of her towel clad hip.

“But, I was taking a shower and hadn’t…” Emma’s body pressed into Killian and he held her firmly in place. His hand rested at the base of her spine and his eyes danced over Emma’s face, focusing on her enticing smile. “…finished,” Emma looked down towards her feet and her voice was more than suggestive. She blinked and her eyes met Killian’s again, and for the first time since they had met, Killian saw Emma as a different person. This Emma was unashamed of her nakedness, obviously, for whatever reason aroused, and writhing against his body painfully to the point of distraction. 

“Finished?” Killian breathed innocently against her lips. They hovered above hers but did not let them touch, the memory of yesterday’s kiss so fresh in his mind he couldn’t move. Emma smiled wickedly and moistened her lips with her tongue. Emma’s interrupted daydream had left her less than sated and at the risk of sounding desperately unsatisfied, she played into his flirting.

“I wasn’t washing, Killian,” she admitted huskily, pressing her lips to his and letting her taste linger on his mouth. When they parted, Killian inhaled deeply, his body shuddering to regain its composure. Emma smiled and watched his reaction with an impish smirk. “Can dinner wait?” Emma asked naively, pouting and looking up at Killian without moving her head, the spark of arousal easily seen in her big, doe eyes. “I’d really like to finish.”

“Does the lady request my assistance…to finish?” Killian asked, his cheeks sparking to life and suddenly feeling very hot under Emma’s gaze. The way Emma bit her lip under her teeth said yes. The way Emma peeled herself from his body, leaving a damp residue on his shirt, and taking his hand in hers as she walked backward towards the stairs, said yes. When her hand left Killian’s and she turned to climb the stairs with a sway of her hips, Killian followed her like an obedient dog, unbuttoning his black shirt as he did.

By the time they had reached Emma’s bathroom door she had turned to Killian with half sated passion in her eyes. His shirt was gone exposing a myriad of colour, both his arms fully sleeved in ink from his shoulders to his wrists. Emma gasped, the burst of colour a kink she never knew she had and made a mental note to ask him about them later. His shoes and socks were also gone and Emma suspected they were scattered down the flight of stairs they had just climbed. Her eyes flickered over his body, noting the way his darkly haired abdomen heaved for breath as his eyes grew darker, and the steady gripping motion he made with his hands. “Eager?” Emma teased, taking a step backward into the doorframe.

Killian’s brow grew lower and his breathing almost turned into a primal purr when he stepped forward, seized Emma by the hips and slammed her into the doorframe. Emma gasped excitedly and gripped at Killian’s bicep for support. His head was so close to hers as it rested against the doorframe and Killian closed the last few millimeters between their bodies with a forceful thrust of his hips. Emma simply smiled at him when his begging erection brushed her through three layers of fabric. “What do you think?” Killian growled.

In a second, Emma grabbed Killian’s head and crushed his lips to hers, wasting no time in parting them and inviting his tongue into her mouth. Killian’s tongue slipped between her lips, finding Emma’s and massaging it with audacious ferocity. He tasted slightly bitter and Emma suspected he had drunk more then one coffee today. His hands were on her shoulders, in her hair, skimming over her breasts and slipping between the overlapping edges of Emma’s towel to brush at her soft, sensitive core.

Emma’s hand fumbled with Killian’s belt, wrenching the metallic pin free from the hole and letting the buckle rattle at his waist while she tugged at his pants. In the time it took them to taste each other, familiarise themselves with every crevice of the opposing mouth, Emma had Killian’s pants down by his ankles and his boxers soon followed. Breaking the kiss roughly, Killian pulled Emma from the doorframe and backed her into the crystal white bathroom, kicking the door closed behind him with his heel.

Well, it seemed Emma’s imagination gave Killian no credit. Killian Jones naked was a sight to be held dear that was for sure. The way his brow was set low on his forehead as he stalked towards her only added to her arousal. The way every muscle in his body rippled as he moved, flexing and bending beneath his skin, the patterns of his tattoos dancing enticingly. It sent Emma into a place she had only, until now, dreamed of. His perfect, heavily tattooed skin shone brilliantly in the fake lighting, and Emma giggled like a schoolgirl when she hit the shower unit with a shocking thud.

Killian’s smile met hers once more and Emma blindly felt behind her to yank the door open and they shuffled into the shower. The glass was still condensed from her solitary non-washing session earlier and the floor was pooled with now cold water. A few suds were mixed in and teased the drain with the threat of slipping through the grated hole. Killian pulled the door closed behind him, plucked Emma’s towel from her body and threw it over the top of the cubicle with a chuckle. Emma turned the creaky handle and the shower rained on them with fiery droplets.

Emma had no time to turn before Killian wrapped his huge, muscular arms around her shoulder, draping his body over Emma’s. She smiled to herself and relaxed back into his touch, lolling her head back onto his chest and sliding a hand up behind his head and pulling his face to her skin. Killian’s lips met her neck like a small fire, burning her skin each time he kissed her, grinning against the watery surface each time a tiny groan escaped Emma’s mouth.

Killian ran his hands down Emma’s shoulders, washing away his kisses with his massive hands before skimming his searing fingertips over her alert nipples and down the center of her smooth stomach. Emma gasped when his hand met the edges of her thigh, tickling at the delicate hair that grew there and halting his kissing to whisper into her ear. “Were you thinking of me?” Killian breathed rapidly, gently stroking Emma’s arousal, mirroring what she had been doing not twenty minutes ago, only this time he was real. He was really pressed to her skin, teasing her body to distraction with talented fingers that Emma already wanted to never let go.

All Emma could do was moan her reply with a shaky nod. Biting her bottom lip between her teeth, she tensed against Killian’s chest when he slid a finger into her abyss, stroking slowly and deliberately. Emma’s hip moved forward, yearning to ride his hand harder, but Killian laid a splayed hand to her stomach and pulled her back to his body, crushing her behind to his erection. One of Emma’s hands reached behind her to steady her weakening knees on Killian’s manly thigh as the water beat down her chest and lubricated Killian’s second finger within her.

“Killian…” Emma moaned when her core stretched with pleasurable pain to welcome his second finger. Her face was pressed to the dampness of his skin, leaving condensed breath against the hollow of his neck each time she panted.

His name on her lips was enough to make Killian shudder. It was a cry of pleading, of the approach of a much needed release that Emma was begging him to achieve. “I want you Emma,” Killian panted against the side of her face, quickening the pace of his hand. “I want you so badly,” he growled.

Emma’s body lifted from his and she slid her hand between their bodies and began running her hand up and down his length. Killian’s hand stilled within her and his breathing caught in his throat when Emma twisted her hand on each stroke, changing the sensation of her teasing onslaught. Killian shifted his weight in the cubicle, allowing a rush of steam to invade the space around him but never letting go of Emma’s body as he turned her towards him roughly.

Emma let out a cry of anticipation followed by a devilish smile as she stepped towards Killian and seized his lips for another tongue dueling kiss. Killian met her half way, his mouth already open and waiting for her goddess taste to coat his senses. Emma’s hand gripped at his head, holding it to her while she devoured him hungrily, careful to avoid the thin trail of pink water that trickled from his head. The shower water stung Killian’s wound, but it was pain he was willing to put up with, especially when Emma’s tiny hands found his member again.

Killian slid a hand down Emma’s water covered body, following the droplets of water against her skin down her ticklish sides and over her hip. His other hand flew out behind them and landed flat against the white tiled wall while the first hooked itself behind Emma’s knee and lifted her leg to his hip, opening her fully to him. Emma broke the kiss, her ragged breath inches from Killian’s face and their eyes locked, full of passion and wanton desire. Emma guided Killian’s erection to her and he sank slowly into her wet heat.

“Take me,” Emma demanded, never breaking eye contact with his darkened blue orbs. She threw her arms around Killian’s neck, pulling herself closer to him and letting the water hammer against her back and run down her arms where it finally glided off her elbows. Killian’s breathing changed when he started moving slowly to allow Emma’s body to acclimate to him at first but then turned forceful. As much as she thought she was in charge, Killian had a few tricks up his naked sleeves that would turn the tables.

To Emma’s disapproval, he stopped his moving, bending his knees slightly and arranging Emma’s leg so it now hung over his crooked elbow. Emma let out a shrill cry of new found pleasure at the new position, digging her fingertips into Killian’s skin and urging him deeper with a clench of her vaginal muscles. “You like that?” He panted with a smirk, watching her face change and her breathing become shallower each time he moved within her.

“Yeah,” Emma said shakily, her voice high and unrecognizable as her own through its arousal laced tone. Her answer became a chant, a mantra she repeated over and over again until she could no longer form any kind of words and she went blind for a millisecond while fireworks exploded behind her eyes. Killian’s body reacted instantly to her orgasm, quivering with its own need for release. Killian thrust faster and harder, his hands gripping so tightly at Emma’s skin it had begun to bruise beneath the surface.

The numbness in Emma’s sex disappeared and it began to tingle again. Her breathing became ragged but she clenched her teeth hard, calling out Killian’s name when he thrust into her one last time, all the way to the hilt. Emma’s body trembled from her second orgasm and Killian clasped his hand closed against the white, damp tiles as he spilled himself deep in Emma. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, untangled her leg from his arm and held her to him. Emma left her leg resting on his hip, hooking it into the small of his back as her internal muscles still spasmed and pulled at Killian’s spent erection.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, the sweat adorning her brow indistinguishable from the now cooling droplets that still showered them. “I’ve never done that before.” Killian’s hand slid across the tiles and twisted the shower to off, leaving them tired and still joined intimately in the clouded cubicle. Killian lifted his face to hers and delicately pressed his lips to hers, slowly teasing her tongue with his own with a wicked smile.

“You’ve never had sex in a shower?” he grinned with a crooked smile, his chest still heaving and his weakened muscles clutching at her naked form. Emma swallowed a much needed gulp of air and chuckled coyly.

“I’ve never come twice,” she admitted before cupping his face in her hands and pulling his smile to hers once more.


	4. Chapter 4

Now it wasn’t like Emma to let someone who was practically a stranger sleep with her. Actually, sleeping was okay but what she had done with Killian last night after their shower escapade, twice, was definitely unusual. Not unusual in the actual meaning of the word because a better one to use would have been phenomenal. Emma would never have slept with a guy after knowing him for a day but in her heart, Killian was different. He was definitely unusual, charismatic, handsomely defined and one of a kind, snoring softly beside her.

The Saturday daybreak spilled through the opening in Emma’s curtains and tumbled across the edge of the bed. The sun always rose at the back of the house, warming Emma’s bedroom with its joyous orange glow before it touched any other part of the house. The faint twittering of birds somehow managed to penetrate the modern double glazed windows, dancing in Emma’s ears like a wind chime. Her face screwed up and her features twitched but her eyes remained closed. She rolled onto her back slowly, lifting her chin and digging her head into the pillow before lifting a heavy arm and draping it across her eyes to block out the glare of the morning rays.

Emma’s nostrils filled with the warmth of the sun, heating each aroma in her room and awakening her still drowsy senses. Emma smelled her shower gel, aloe and cucumber, but it was tainted with the magnificent scent of manly sweat and post sexual bliss. The room was hot, stuffed with the heat of two bodies that had been pressed together in all directions for most of the night, leaving their uninhibited minds shattered and exhausted under the thin sheets.

Groggily, Emma rolled her naked body over again away from the sunlight and her head fell heavily on the pillow next to Killian’s. Her arm stretched out and lay softly across his head, stirring him from his slumber with a low grumble. Emma’s arm tumbled from Killian’s face, resting across his chest when he shifted in the bed and the sheets dropped to his waist. Emma peeled an eye open and their faces were almost touching. Killian’s breath warmed against her face each time it blew from his nose and his chest heaved with a sleepy sigh.

Why had she let it happen? Emma didn’t know, but she wasn’t exactly complaining. Her insides hurt pleasantly, more than she could explain and if she didn’t know better, she’d say the glow surrounding her was not just from the sun that bore into the smooth skin of her back. Maybe it was some kind of grieving process she was going through. Maybe, desperate to feel loved again and missing her mother, Emma has compensated with Killian, letting him take her to paradise over and over again. A smile played across her lips as her eyes searched Killian’s face but she was shaken from her daydream suddenly.

“Stop it,” Killian mumbled and Emma smiled wider, unsure if he was dreaming or awake. Killian didn’t move and his face remained unchanged, only a slight twitch in his brow gave away his thought.

“Stop what?” Emma whispered against his skin. She didn’t want to wake him if he was asleep but when he rearranged himself once more, clutching the fabric of the sheets to his waist as he did so, Emma knew he wasn’t.

“Stop devouring me with your eyes,” Killian rasped, his morning voice harsh and deeper than the ocean. A quick smirk played across his lips and Emma’s arm suddenly became pinned to his skin when he held it there with a tender touch.

“I can’t help it.” Emma beamed and closed the tiny gap between their faces and pressed her lips to Killian’s. A small groan escaped from his throat and he trailed his fingertips down her arm as she pulled her limb free, moving her hand to rest delicately against his cheek. Killian let her kiss him, inhaling her scent and letting his eyes blink open when his lips became void of her contact.

“You know-,” Killian began, rolling his head away from her smile and lightly scratching at the dark hairs adorning his chest. His eyes blinked again, focusing on the line of sunshine that speared its way across the ceiling and down the opposite wall. He swallowed a dry lump down his throat and rolled his gaze back towards her expectant face. “Some people would be surprised by our current situation.”

Emma shifted herself and rested her head on her elbow, entangling her fingers in her messy blonde bed hair and dragging the sheet up her chest to cover her modesty. “Like who?” Emma asked him with a grin, her brow furrowing playfully into a questioning frown.

“Me,” Killian said simply, mirroring her position. “Normally, you’d be gone by now,” he said with a smirk. Killian didn’t sleep around, but every time he had been with a woman, they didn’t stick around long. He was good looking, a fantastic lover, but his overactive mind scared most women off before dawn.

“This is my house,” Emma reminded him coyly. “And besides,” she began with a shake of her head that sent her curled hair tumbling over her shoulders, “you owe me dinner before we do this again.” 

“Oh so hard to please,” Killian teased, smiling at her and he couldn’t help but reach out and brush a strand of hand from her face. There he went again, making love to Emma’s hair with his hands. “How about I make you breakfast instead?” he quipped smoothly. His voice was still husky but had begun to wake up and join the rest of his body. He tucked a stray hair behind Emma’s ear again, making sure it stayed there before caressing the side of her face with the back of his hand and smoothing his thumb over the corner of her crooked smile. 

“I’d like that.” Emma smirked, leaning forward, her eyes flickering between his and his expectant lips before capturing them for a long, slow kiss. Killian’s hand cradled her jaw and he tilted her head back, darting his tongue out to moisten her lips and beg her mouth to let it in. Emma complied, parting her lips gently and sucking on his tongue, letting it trail over every surface of the inside of her mouth. Killian rocked his hips towards her and lowered her back down to the pillow gently, gobbling up Emma’s giggle as he grinned against her smile. Emma’s hand tickled up Killian’s sides and gripped at his shoulder, holding his torso to hers but they were suddenly and irritatingly interrupted by the jingle of Killian’s cell phone.

“Grrr!” Killian growled playfully with a heavy sigh. It made Emma giggle out loud and her smile was suddenly a permanent fixture on her face. “Hold that thought,” he said quickly before giving her another ardent kiss and pulling away with another groan and rolling over the edge of his side of the bed. 

Killian’s hand felt across the soft fibers of the bedroom carpet and his vision drained a little when the blood rushed to his head. His diaphragm was crushed on the edge of Emma’s bed and he couldn’t locate his pants through looking or blindly fumbling. The incessant ringing grew louder and Killian could hear the buzz of his cell vibrating and Emma laughing.

“Killian,” Emma called and his head whipped up to see her pointing off the edge of her side of the bed. He gave her a puzzled frown before scrambling across the bed, tangling himself in the sheet and gripping the edge of the bed to stop from falling off. Emma moved her legs just as his body flattened to the mattress with an audible grunt and he fished in his pants for the cell phone. He read the caller ID before sliding the green arrow across the screen and pressing it to his ear quickly.

“Yeah, hello,” he said hurriedly through shallow gasps. His feet tried in vain to grip at the mattress but he began to slide forward over the edge of the bed and he reached out to stop himself with a trembling arm.

“Whoa, mate…” David began sharply. “Heavy breathing is not my thing, sorry,” he teased. 

“Ha ha,” Killian said mockingly with a shaky voice, trying to push himself back over the mattress. Emma watched his display and covered her mouth to muffle her laughter. “What’s up?” Killian asked, a serious tone invading his voice.

“You tell me,” David laughed. “I called you at home and there was no answer, and then I get you on your cell…”

“I was in the shower,” Killian interrupted him with a smirk. Technically, he wasn’t lying, even if his timeline was off by a few hours. Or seven.

“So you answer your cell and not your landline? I don’t think so my friend,” David told him and Killian could imagine him shaking his head. “Not unless you’ve been in the shower for two hours,” David said accusingly. Killian’s silence prompted his next accusation. “You’re not home,” he said with an air of triumphant glory in his voice.

“I…” Killian began, but he stopped when he felt Emma’s weight shift on the bed. His skin prickled to life and his blood began to double its speed around his vessels when Emma laid a tiny hand to his back and pressed her lips to his spine.

“Just admit it, Killian.” David grinned to his friend as he shuffled a few silky, colour photographs across the desk in front of him. “You didn’t go home last night.”

“Yes,” Killian breathed and his eyes fluttered closed and he rolled back in his head when Emma’s lips planted another tormenting kiss to the middle of his back. Her hands brushed over the warmth of his skin and she smiled at his helplessness.

“I knew it!” David declared with a roar, slamming his hand against the polished surface of his desk. He huddled himself closer to the phone. “Was she good?” he asked, he voice dirty and muffled.

“Huh? What?” Killian’s voice was broken, barely audible when Emma’s lips found the base of his neck and trailed kisses around the back of his neck to behind his elfen ear. She had noticed their endearing shape last night when Killian’s head was between her legs. David sighed into the phone and rolled his eyes.

“What’s her name…Emma…what's she like?” David prodded eagerly. Killian rolled his head sideways and Emma smiled against his stubble littered jaw as she continued her assault down his throat and past his bobbing Adam’s apple.

“She’s very…” Killian paused, incoherently imagining Emma’s lips elsewhere. His arm began to tremble under his weight once again and he considered letting them both fall to a crumpled heap on the floor just so he could touch her. “…wait,” Killian snapped quickly and Emma wrenched her lips from his body with a pout, which he detested immediately. “Why are you calling me on a Saturday?” Killian said in a cough, clearing his throat and trying to focus on why David would need him so desperately. When Emma realized he hadn’t wanted her to stop, she trailed her tongue across the salty skin of his back again.

“I need you to come into work,” David admitted, a little heartbroken Killian hadn’t finished his description of the wonderful mystery that was, unbeknownst to him, his little sister.

“Work?” Killian whined, gulping hard and trying to stop the burning in his gut.

“Yeah, there was a problem at the site again. I can’t fix this one alone, Killian. I’m really sorry,” David grinned with fake apologies. “So get your ass out of whoever’s bed you slept in last night and get here. Quick.” David chuckled to himself and hung up.

Killian pulled he phone from his ear and stared at it in shock. David never hung up on him; it was usually the other way around.

“You have to go?” Emma said in a childish tone. She draped her body over Killian’s back, wrapped her arms around his neck and planted another teasing kiss to his face. The combined weight of them both was too much to hold and Killian let them topple to the floor wrapped in the bed sheets, landing on his shoulder and absorbing the force of the fall. Emma squealed and then laughed heartily, burying her face in Killian’s chest that racked with its own laughter.

Killian stopped laughing first, silenced by the faintest trace of Emma’s plush, rosy nipple that peeked from the top of the cotton covering her body. She continued to laugh, smoothing the hair from her face as she sat back up in Killian’s lap, unaware that her nakedness was on display. She caught his eye and followed his line of sight, immediately blushing and replacing the fabric over her breasts.

“Don’t,” Killian breathed, stopping her when she began to move the sheet to cover herself. “You’re beautiful.” Emma blushed and her lips fought to avoid smiling at his compliment. “I’m sorry,” Killian offered, instantly finding the wastebasket next to Emma’s bedside cabinet so much more interesting. He needed it to be more interesting or he would be in a difficult and potentially sticky situation. “Although, I can’t think why you’re blushing,” he said smoothly, giving her a wicked smile that left Emma speechless. “You _are_ beautiful, Emma.” He was more than charismatic, he was sophisticatedly filthy minded and for some reason, it made Emma aroused beyond comprehension. 

“How long have you had these?” Emma asked slowly, watching her fingertip trace the outline of his tattooed bicep. Killian felt all the hairs on his body spring to life at her touch, swallowing hard. “They’re so amazing. Did they hurt?” Emma asked him shyly.

“A little,” Killian admitted with a small shrug. He gave her a small smile, letting her explore his skin. “I got them done is just two sittings.”

“One for each sleeve?” Emma said shocked, her eyes widening a little as she screwed her face up into a wince. “That must have hurt.”

“It was worth it, don’t you think?” He growled, wrapping his arms around her frame and holding her barely covered chest to his. His coarse chest hair tickled at her nipples through the fabric of the sheet and Emma arched into him harder.

“They are very sexy,” she said innocently, pretending to be unimpressed by his art covered skin. “What do they mean?” Emma pressed gently, shifting her weight so she could run her flat palms over the curve of his shoulders. The pattern of grey and blue hues rippled over his flesh as she stroked his muscles, watching her hands intently with fascination.

Killian bowed his head a little, almost embarrassed by her line of questioning, and Emma smirked at his bashful expression. If she didn’t know any better, she would say the tint of pink to his cheeks was from a blush. “Just things,” he told her softly, nuzzling his chin into the crease of her bosom playfully. 

“What things?” Emma breathed, her eyes fluttering closed at his contact, the prickle of his facial hair scratching pleasantly at her smooth skin.

Killian kissed the top of her breast, letting his lips linger against the skin there for longer than necessary, before lifting his head and catching her sleepy gaze once more. The tattoos meant so much to him, every line and shaded image put there by his older brother who had been a world-renowned tattoo artist. Liam Jones would travel the world, leaving his ink on the huge line of people who, Killian was sure, would have stretched around the world. That was until he was killed in a plane crash and Killian had lost his grip on reality.

Now he had found Emma and had a new reason for wanting to get up each day.

“It’s not what they mean, love,” he began with a joyful, reminiscent smile. “It’s what they represent.” He tightened his grip around her waist, holding her against his body and enjoying the warmth from her skin and her smile.

“And that is?” Emma stroked her fingers through his sleep ruffled hair as she spoke, massaging his scalp with her dainty fingers.

“Family,” Killian said, a hint of sadness in his tone. “Family means more to me than I can say. My brother tattooed me, marked me for the rest of my life, and now I’ll never forget him.”

She was about to speak, tell him how she had fallen into him at the exact moment she had lost the remaining half if her family, but then her phone began to ring.

“Excuse me.” She smirked, pushed herself to her feet in a ladylike manner and stalked around the edge of the bed to where her handset sat on its charging unit. The sheet that was wrapped awkwardly around her body slid from Killian’s, leaving him naked and exposed at the side of her bed. He leaned up on the edge of the bed, propping his head up on his elbow and smiling at her the whole time. Emma shook the hair covering her ears and pressed the answer button with a beep. “Hello?” she tried to sound normal, ignoring Killian’s boyish grin by turning from him.

“Hey Emma, it's Whale,” her colleague sang down the phone. Emma could clearly hear the bustle of the ER around him. People were screaming, children were crying and the clatter of a new trainee nurse dropping a tray of instruments echoed through the section of the hospital. Whale, as happy go lucky as he was, did have some off days and today Emma heard a distinct low point in his voice. “Listen, sweetie, we need you to come in as soon as possible. Have you seen the news?”

“The news?” Emma asked seriously, stepping sideways and flicking her television on. Killian watched her move, silently retrieving his boxers from the end bedpost and sliding them on quickly. He was sure they had ended up somewhere else that night, but he also distinctly remembers trying to redress and cook dinner. That went to plan like a botched bank robbery. “Oh god…” Emma sighed, covering her mouth with a shaky hand.

Killian’s head whipped towards the TV and then back to Emma’s pale expression. She was frozen to the spot, her eyes fixated on the glaring news images broadcasting from the screen of a train crash. There were smoke and fire, people fleeing where they could and shards of metal littering the ground. From the helicopter footage, being broadcast live to the city, emergency personal looked like insignificant specks of luminous yellow as they carried stretcher after stretcher from the wreckage.

“Emma? We need every pair of free hands for this one. Most of the patients are coming here.” Whale’s voice sounded stern down the phone. “Emma?” he repeated, a little concerned. Killian walked around the bed, his feet padding silently against the carpet until he reached her. She didn’t acknowledge him, before or after he plucked the phone from her hand and held it to his own ear.

“She’ll be there,” he said simply and hung up the phone. Killian studied her face, laying a gentle hand to her shoulder. Emma flinched and stared at him wide-eyed, her breathing quick and uneven. “Hey,” Killian began with a caressing tone, cupping her face and giving her a worried look. “Are you alright, love?” he soothed, thumbing her skin lightly. Emma gave him a weak nod and looked away before her burning tears threatened to fall. “Emma, why are you crying?” Killian urged, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting her eyes to his once more.

“I’m not,” she said quickly, wiping her eyes with a shaking hand. Killian gave her a disbelieving look and something inside Emma broke. The dam holding back all the years of repressed hurt burst and images of a more familiar accident propelled themselves through her mind. Emma’s father’s image, trapped and choking in a smoke-filled carriage, raided her mind. If he wasn’t slowly suffocating he was burning, every haunting nightmare she had ever had invading her mind at once. “I’m sorry, my father was a doctor who died in a train crash,” Emma suddenly said.

It sounded different out loud. It sounded almost as good as it felt. Like a weight lifting from Emma’s body, she stopped crying and looked up into Killian’s sorrowful eyes. She didn’t know why she had told him something so intimate. She hadn’t spoken about her father since he died, not even in passing or when someone commented on him being proud of such a talented young woman. Killian didn’t say anything for a while, simply offering her a feeble smile before lowering his lips to hers.

“Then go and make him proud,” Killian told her firmly and for the first time in her entire life, Emma felt as though she could. Medicine had come a long way in fifteen years and there were now ways to save people who would've otherwise perish in a train wreck. “I can make you breakfast another day,” Killian smirked, trying to lighten the mood. Emma laughed nervously, left his warm embrace to dress and they left the house together, going separate ways at the gate with a polite wave.

Emma couldn’t help but sneak a quick look over her shoulder, a smirk plastered to her face and her brown leather handbag clutched to her side. Killian’s outline walked briskly towards the center of town, his clothes slightly creased from their violent discarding last night and his hands buried deep in his pockets. If Emma hadn’t of known better, she’d say he was whistling, but the roar of traffic drowned out any sound from the distance between them.

Deciding against the train today, not just because the lines were delayed but because she wanted the fresh air before facing the ER on a Saturday, Emma took a cab and sat in the back seat with the windows wound right down. The motion of the car made her hair whip and flick at her face and she was constantly brushing it aside with quick sweeps. There was more traffic than normal on the road today, another consequence of the disaster, and yet, the sun still shone through the paneless window space and made her squint to avoid it. Children still played in the street, skipping over boxes of chalk drawn outside their front steps and old men still congregated to play chess in the local park, shaded under an old oak tree. In the aftermath of a tragedy, life still went on.

However, nothing could have prepared Emma for the ER. The recent wreck had left its mark, as well as blood on the floors and people screaming in the halls. Storybrooke wasn’t equipped for this. There were not enough examination rooms, not enough nurses and Emma was glad of the silence when she slammed the door to the locker room and heaved a sigh. The ER was full to capacity and she barely had time to change into scrubs before she had a patient. Macy Graem, twenty-five, had been in the middle of one of the trains when the two collided and sent her crashing through the window. 

Emma could hear the screaming before she even reached out with a gloved hand and pulled the curtain back. It slid along the metallic rail with a scraping noise and Macy was thrashing about on the bed, pulling at her restraints and shouting abuse through body-wracking sobs. Emma’s eyes surveyed the scene. There was no blood, it was eerily clean, and the one side of Macy’s face Emma could see was flushed pink as she yelled at a nurse to let her out of the padded cuffs.

“Why is this woman restrained?” Emma asked the nurse, a little confused. The petite nurse with dirty blonde hair and floral scrubs handed her Macy’s chart.

“The patient has severe trauma to the left side of her face caused by a puncture wound to the ocular section of the skull,” the nurse said with a quiet cough before Macy turned to them. Her appearance took Emma’s breath away.

“Yeah, I know,” Macy rolled her eyes at Emma. “You’d want to pull it out too,” she spat, pointing at the huge shard of glass that had pierced her eye and sat suspended from her swollen face.

“Uh…” Emma stuttered, before regaining her composure. “Let’s get an x-ray to see how far back into your skull this thing goes and get you on some pain medication,” Emma noted, signed and handed the chart to the nurse who scurried off in a rush.

“Finally!” Macy huffed. “I need to get some coffee before my noon meeting.” Emma offered her a weak smile before backing from the makeshift examination room. Some people, Emma decided, had their priorities all wrong.

A few hours later, there were no more critically injured patients making their way to the hospital. Most were being seen to or had been sent to other nearby hospitals. Emma made her way through the crowded halls, half ignoring the requests from the hurt and injured for more pain medications and half apologizing for not being their doctor. She could have been, and they would be more comfortable but the truth was hideously clear. In the wake of a disaster like this, patients were categorized by colour according to their specific needs. 

Red denoted the need for immediate attention while being tagged with yellow meant you could wait while the red tags were seen to. The protocol for a green tag was simple triage but most patients were being monitored in the overcrowded halls and were in pain. In a way, the pain was welcomed. It meant the patient was still lucid and knew what was happening, even if I did break Emma’s heart. Perhaps the hardest sight of all was a baby, cradled in its mother’s arms, lying still and cold and blue. Emma couldn’t hear Dr. Whale’s apologies but by the tender hand he had laid to the mother’s shoulder and the sudden rush of tears that fell from her eyes, Emma knew the tiny life had not gotten the chance it deserved to avoid its fate as a black tagged victim.

The pharmacy was rushed with one lone technician dispensing every drug needed on the floor that day. He was flurried, rushing back and forward between the stacks of boxes, bottles and sachets and the front desk. He was maybe forty-five, medium height with a thick head of neatly combed brown hair and caring, kind eyes. Most of the doctors called him Tom, even though his real name was Dwight Thomson.

“Hey Tom,” Emma said with a smile, leaning on the desk on her elbows. She had known him for the smallest amount of time but felt like she could call him Tom now. He returned her smile, taking a deep breath and combing the hair from his brow with his fingers. 

“Good evening, Dr. Swan,” he chimed but then his smile faded away. “Well…it’s evening anyway,” he added solemnly with a sigh. “What can I get you today?” he asked politely, leaning on his wrists like a barman.

Emma checked to see if anyone was behind her before looking back to him. “PCP,” she said in a hushed voice. Tom gave her a quirked eyebrow.

“The morning after pill? Dr. Swan,” he said scandalized, a little shocked but Emma interrupted him with a reassuring smile and little headshake.

“It’s for a patient,” she told him professionally with a roll of her eyes. Tom retrieved a small pill from under the desk and emptied it into a plastic cup with a clatter. “So save your lecture for another time,” Emma said playfully and signed the prescription. Tom laughed at her and called for the next prescription.

It was one tablet. One white, thick, round tablet rattling at the bottom of a transparent cap that Emma had so much focus on as she moved back through the ER. As fantastic as last night was, in the wake of it all, Emma had realized that there was no protection. They had simply thrown themselves at each other, and Emma had not stopped to think of the consequences until she had seen the dead baby. Her heart ached for the mother who would never get to see her child grow and the last thing Emma wanted was to be in that situation.

Her white coat must have signified something to all of the waiting visitors because they all rose from their seats in unison and looked to her with expectant eyes when she passed through the waiting room. One man nudged her side and she toppled, losing the grip on the wafer-thin plastic up and letting it fall to the floor. At that exact same time, another man stepped forward and crushed her pill into a fine alabaster powder.

“I’m sorry,” Emma started in anticipation of his question. “We haven’t got an updated list of the injured yet,” she droned like a robot, telling the waiting ER exactly what she had been told to say. Never admit and never deny. Shift blame to the unknown, the thing that most people feared the most. Emma backed away from the crowd that had turned into a rowdy mob, complaining in their time of desperation of the incompetence of the hospital. 

The doors of the ER burst open and startled Emma who watched the gurney roll smoothly over the tiled floor towards her. The patient was strapped to the moving trolley and a paramedic ran alongside, momentarily squeezing air into their airway and breathing for them. Another small paramedic sat astride the patient and had her hands elbow deep in the chest cavity, pumping the heart manually with her bare hands. Blood splattered her white shirt but Emma was unsure if it was from this patient or another.

“We need some help here!” the paramedic screamed out of breath, turning her head to catch Emma’s eye. Emma reacted instantly, plucking a pair of gloves from the convenient box attached to the nearby wall and following the trauma down the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

Tuesdays were, for lack of more suitable alliteration, terrible. It wasn’t the weather, because it hadn’t been this sunny in Storybrooke forever. There was no wind, no clouds in the sky and not a single damp patch in sight. The trees were lush and green, basking motionlessly in its rays in the wake of late spring. No, it wasn’t the weather.

It wasn’t the people out today either. Emma had been to work and every single patient had said thank you and one elderly gentlemen had smiled and thanked her with a tear in his eye when she told him they couldn’t do anything more for his ailing, cancer-ridden wife. It was a sad moment when the tall, silver-haired man with long ears and a charming smile walked his wife from the hospital bound for home. He knew where he was going, and Emma knew where he was going. Only his wife, coughing and weak from the radiation that hadn’t helped her, was oblivious to the fact she would only be back once it was all over. No, it wasn’t the people.

And Emma could safely say it wasn’t her current company. She had been overjoyed when David had called her and invited her to lunch. It was perfect because she hadn’t seen her older brother for two weeks and she missed him. It was funny, because Emma missed David so much now that her mother was gone, despite the fact she only ever saw him at Christmas, Thanksgiving and only ever occasionally on her birthday. He was busy, and so was she, so she didn’t press the fact she wanted to see him.

So what made this particular Tuesday so terrible was the tiny problem of Emma’s habituated fear of her older brother. He had told her to do as she wished with their mother’s house. He didn’t have time to oversee the estate management, and neither did he want to move in once Emma moved back home. David was never a tormenting brother, but he did have his moments growing up where he could be inexplicably cruel. Maybe it was just her, but Emma couldn’t shift the feeling in the pit of her stomach because she had to tell David their childhood home would be gone forever.

“Enjoying Storybrooke?” David asked her quickly before taking a sip of his coffee and letting the spotless white mug rest gently on his stomach. He was leaning back in his chair, the sun shining into his eyes from behind Emma making him squint, and he smacked his lips together, savouring the bitter liquid.

Emma was a little distant. All she could think about was how she could tell David she didn’t want to keep the house their mother had left them. She’d thought about renting it out when a group of interns at her hospital had been complaining about how far away from the hospital their accommodation was, but she had been a student once, so she thought better of it. Her stomach tingled again with nerves and she laid her hand over it as if it would help calm her butterflies. 

“Emma?” David queried again and she snapped out of her daydream and turned to him.

“I’m sorry?” She smiled, willing him to repeat his question with a smile. David took another sip of coffee and rested his mug to the metallic surface of the outdoor table they were seated at.

“I said,” he began with a tone of light frustration. “Are you enjoying being back in Storybrooke?” he smiled. Emma gave him a quick nod and reached for her glass of water.

“Of course, I love Storybrooke,” Emma exclaimed, lifting the glass to her smile and silently letting the cool water slide down her throat. “It’s smaller then I remember,” she noted with a laugh.

“No, you just grew up,” David told her with a wink, his own laughter vibrating from his chest. 

The tiny cafe that David had invited her to was one from their childhood. It was a small, family run business with friendly staff and delicious home cooked foods. When they were younger, their mother treated them to lunch here every Saturday, after which they would go to park or the zoo or somewhere else fun. Even when they were socially “too old” to be seen with their mother, David and Emma never disrespected her in favour of the latest video game or teenage craze. They knew the meaning of family.

The name hanging above the restaurant was also familiar to Emma. The faded yellow paint had begun to peel from its dark green background and it looked cracked and weathered. Emma remembered when she was seven, two men had come and painted the restaurant’s sign while they sat on a broken and crumbled wall nearby and watched. There were four of them that day, David, Emma, David’s friend Graham and his younger sister Ruby. They were inseparable and the cafe was their home ground.

David and Graham were the same age and they went to school together. They kept themselves to themselves mostly but were popular within their local high school. They were, to put it bluntly, jocks, but Emma always maintained that they were jocks with hearts. Ruby was a year younger than Emma and as such, was the lowest ranking member of their group. It was normally Ruby’s job to fetch them lemonade and cookies, which she never complained about doing until she was old enough to realise she was being used.

When they were twelve, David and Graham had decided it would be a good idea to construct a ramp outside the corner cafe and try to jump it on their bikes. Looking back on it, it was a funny idea because neither of them really had the courage to try something so fearless. Emma offered her lightweight services but David had scolded her and told her it wasn’t for girls, which only made her want to try it even more. Three painful stitches and a broken arm later, Emma decided that maybe David knew best.

David caught Emma smiling to herself and nudged her foot under the table. “Ow!” Emma screeched on instinct before narrowing her eyes at his grinning face. “What?” She asked him annoyed, but her smile gave away her amusement.

“Nothing, you were just daydreaming,” David told her matter-of-factly. Emma thought about objecting to his claim, but it sounded so childish in her head. 

“Of course she was!” A chirpy voice sounded from behind her. “About me, obviously,” the voice added. Emma looked sideways and her eyes were met with the off-white of a well used apron, tied around the waist of its owner. Her eyes travelled up over the silver belt buckle, past the short stubby pencil poised above the tiny notepad and finally rested on the alluring blue eyes of the waiter.

“Graham!” Emma screamed, jumping to her feet and launching herself into the arms of her old friend. There was laughing, and there was squeezing and David rolled his eyes. Composing herself, Emma coughed lightly and pulled away from the man, letting her hands dangle loosely from his.

“Hey Emma,” he smiled, pulling her into another long, crushing hug. “I heard you were back in Storybrooke but I had to see for myself,” he admitted, mouthing a thank you to David. David nodded back and refocused his attention on the newspaper rested lightly against his knee.

“Yeah, I uh…” Emma paused when her arms smoothed down Graham’s and her fingertips bumped over his muscles. “Wow, Graham, you look good!”

Graham blushed a little and grinned foolishly. “And David never told me you got hot,” he added with flattery, shooting his friend a glance. David tilted his head and gave them a pleading glance.

“Graham, please, she’s my sister!” David called out in his defence. His newspaper had been folded over his fingers and was pointing at the couple. “It wasn’t my fault you two never got married,” he huffed, flipping his newspaper back open and finishing off his coffee. Laughter erupted from the two friends standing in the afternoon sun.

“He has a point,” Emma told Graham with a point of her finger. Graham opened his mouth to object but his smile overtook his words. He sighed, defeated, pulling Emma’s chair out for her and motioning for her to sit back down. He slid into the chair next to her and leaned back against the heated metallic surface.

“I asked you, but you turned me down,” he laughed, shuffling forward on his seat until he elbows rested on the table.

“I had a valid reason,” she grinned, remembering the time he had indeed, asked her to marry him. She brushed a hand across her forehead and tucked her hair behind her ears.

“You said I had cooties…” Graham protested with a high pitched squeak but Emma interrupted him quickly.

“You’re point being, Graham Humbert?” Emma chuckled. Her grin was painfully wide and her teeth were on display for the world to see. Graham had asked Emma to marry him once when she was eight. It was a hot summers day and the Nolan-Swan-Humbert children were all sprawled out in the long grass of the local park, soaking up the glistening heat after a long game of four-man baseball. Ruby was sent to get some ice cream and David was practising his batting techniques, giving himself a running commentary as he did so. In his squeaky, pre-pubescent boy voice, Graham had knelt down on one knee and proposed.

_“Emma Nolan, Will you marry me?”_

_“Eww no! You’ll give me cooties if we kiss!”_

_“We don’t have to kiss, we can hold hands.”_

_“No!”_

And they never spoke of it again until they were much older and had matured. Emma’s eyes travelled over the fine lines of Graham’s slightly stubbled jaw and the accented dimples that graced his cheeks when he smiled. “And besides,” Emma said, letting her hand fall onto his where it rested on the table. She gently stroked his fingers, letting her digits linger on the golden band that lived there. “It looks like someone beat me to it.”

Graham blushed again, a trait he had still not outgrown at the age of thirty-five. “I’m happy for you Graham, I really am,” she said sincerely, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Graham hadn’t had the best upbringing. His father had died when Ruby was a baby and he never had anyone except Emma’s father to show him how to be a man. He spent most of his time at the Nolan-Swan house and they treated him like family, constantly teasing that he was destined to marry Emma.

“Seven years,” he proclaimed proudly. “And three kids,” he added with a tired sigh. He leaned sideways and reached for his wallet in his back pocket. He flipped open the dark brown leather and thumbed through some compartments until he found what he was looking for. “Here,” he handed Emma the photograph. It was slightly creased and had a corner torn off.

Emma took the thickened paper between her thumb and finger and gazed down onto the wonderfully constructed picture with awe. There were two boys and a girl, all with their father’s dark brown hair and gorgeous, sky blue eyes. They were all lying on their stomachs on top of a giant trampoline, with their chins resting against their palms and a impish grin on each of their faces. “That’s Toby, Riley and Nick,” he told her proudly, pointing to each of their delicate faces in turn.

Toby seemed to be the oldest. He was bigger, looked stronger and had more hair on his little head that was slightly curled and flopped to the side of his eyes. He wore some cargo shorts and a green t-shirt and Emma could see his bare feet over the top of his head. Riley was in the middle, her hair of shoulder length and straight, highlighting her rounded, cherub-like face. She was mid giggle, genuinely humoured by whatever was behind the camera. Finally, Nick wore similar clothing to Toby only he was smaller. His hair was shorter but had the same distinct curling to it and he had a round face like his sister that rested angelically on short, stubby fingers.

“They’re all beautiful,” Emma breathed and handed Graham the photograph back. He took a long look at the children and let out a breath he had been holding. 

“Yes they are,” he agreed quietly, tucking the photograph back into his wallet with a smile. “How about you?” He said pushing his wallet back into the back pocket of his stone wash jeans. “Do you have children?” David snorted and quickly cleared his throat, hiding his amusement behind his newspaper when Emma gave him a glare.

“No,” Emma said simply. “I don’t really have time,” she admitted sadly. Her hands slid across the cool surface of the table and then dropped to her lap where Emma rubbed against her legs nervously.

“Oh? What do you do now?” Graham asked her with a frown. He suddenly broke into a wide grin and he laughed to himself. “How did becoming the world’s first female sperm donor work out for you?”

Emma blushed and made a groaning noise as her childhood stupidity. “How did you ever remember that?” she asked amazed. “I was like what? Nine? I didn’t even know what sperm was!” David chuckled in his seat because his sister’s endeavour had been partly his doing. Emma had been annoying him and Graham one day whilst they were watching a documentary about sperm donors. David had announced he wanted to be a sperm donor, not really understanding the concept at the age of thirteen, and Emma had immediately took it upon herself to want to be just like her brother. The two older boys had taunted her ever since. “I’m a doctor now,” Emma smiled.

“Here in Storybrooke?” Graham asked excitedly.

“No, sadly I am here on other matters,” Emma’s smile faded and she found herself fiddling with her own fingers in her lap. The tingling in the pit of her stomach returned and the bile rose up in her throat.

“Our mom died,” David said suddenly, stoic and not phased by the phrase that so often made Emma cry at night.

“Oh guys, I’m so sorry,” Graham whispered and his tone, kind, gentle and loving, made the tears in the back of Emma’s throat sting. She wanted to cry, but she had no tears left and just the unpleasant choking sensation lined the back of her mouth. “If there’s anything I can…” he began sympathetically but Emma cut him off suddenly.

“So, you still work for your grandma?” Emma muttered, sniffing and swallowing her invisible tears. 

Graham nodded slowly and turned to face the front window of the restaurant. “I work with her,” he beamed discreetly and Emma cocked her head at him with a furrowed brow. “She retired and I took over the business…” he was interrupted by a shouting inside. “…which I have to go check on,” he said with a frustrated growl.

“Yeah, okay, um…it was good to see you again.” Emma pushed herself to her feet and hugged him goodbye. He was more handsome than prom night but he smelled just as good. 

“You too. Take care of her,” Graham told David sternly before disappearing with a wave. Emma watched him go, slowly sinking into her chair wearing the biggest smile she had ever displayed. She was glad for him, happy he was now the owner of his family business and she was glad it was still family run. It meant it had love and compassion and Emma liked that.

“Stop that,” David warned coolly and Emma snapped her head to him with an innocent expression. “He’s a married man Emma,” he grinned letting the ankle that was resting to his knee slid off his leg and shift under the table. David placed the newspaper to the table and cleared his throat while he rearranged his crimson tie over his crisp, white shirt.

“I know that,” Emma opposed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I already have-” Before she could stop them the words tumbled from her mouth and Emma panicked, clamping her jaw shut immediately.

“Who?” David interjected with a scowl. Big brother mode had kicked in and his protective nature was sent into overdrive. Sometimes, for her own sanity as well as his, Emma wished she had agreed to marry Graham when he had asked her.

“Nothing. No one,” Emma said quickly. She looked away from him, averting her eyes to the newspaper that was sitting in front of him. “Why would you think there was anyone?” She said innocently, snatching the paper up and scanning the open page David had folded it too.

“Because that is the Storybrooke Business Journal of Engineering,” he said with a sly smile. Emma’s eyes fell to the paper and she couldn’t decipher a single word. She slapped the grey, inky booklet back onto the table and crossed her arms sternly.

“Shut up,” she growled at her brother while he laughed.

“But seriously,” David told her with a pointed finger. “If there was anyone, you’d tell me, right?”

“So you can beat him up?” Emma teased, raising her eyebrow at her brother.

“Not immediately,” David shrugged with a grin. “I just want to make sure you are happy.” David’s words were laced with a sadness he didn’t even realise he had for his sister. He worried about her being in New York all by herself, and as much as it would kill him to finally realize she was a consenting adult, his pain would be outweighed by knowing she was safe.

“I am happy,” Emma smiled, her mind drifting back to the way Killian’s powder blue eyes turned dark when he was aroused.

“With?” David prompted, trying to trick his sister into revealing the name of the man who made her smile so much.

Emma narrowed her gaze and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Nice try, Dave,” she told him with a shake of her head. “I’m happy. That’s all you need to know.”

“Good,” David smiled at her, resting his hand over hers. “But know the minute you are not, I’ll break his legs.”

The rest of lunch was quaint, just the two of them. David talked about work but what dominated his conversation most was his huge crush on his receptionist, Mary Margaret. Sometimes Emma wondered if he did his job, or just walked around in a suit all day gazing upon her _‘snow white beauty’_ , pretending to be important. As always they ate a childhood favourite, except Emma’s grilled cheese sandwich came with tomatoes and David’s did not. Even when she wasn’t in Storybrooke, Emma would order a grilled cheese sandwich and often wondered if David did the same.

Whilst she was on the subject on wondering, Emma’s thoughts strayed back to Killian. She had only spoken to him on the phone a few times in two weeks and they hadn’t seen each other since their sexual escapades. Work had been busy for both of them, and when they had stopped sending text messages to each other, Emma had tried not to mind. It had only been sex after all, even though deep down, she felt it was more. He had her cell and she had his, but she didn’t want to seem desperate calling him. She would wait.

“Emma!” David shouted again and shook her arm roughly. “Quit daydreaming already! God, do you do this at work?” He frowned.

“Hmm?” Emma made the noise in her throat and it was barely audible as she blinked towards her brother. “I’m sorry, Dave, what?”

“I said…” he sang, extended the syllables of each word so that she would understand him. “…You should come by the office tomorrow and we can talk about the house, okay?”

Emma stared at him and narrowed her eyes a little. Had she been so inside of her alternate reality that she had mentioned she wanted to sell the house and hadn’t noticed? 

“I know you want to sell it and move back home,” David told her and Emma swallowed hard. “It’s okay, I don’t mind,” David smiled weakly, holding his tie to his chest as he stood up from his seat and shucked on his long, grey, peacoat. He lifted Emma’s from the back of her chair and held it in the air so that she could slide her arms into the sleeves. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” David asserted in a business-like manner and handed her a card with the business address on, cupped her face in his manly palms and kissed her cheek goodbye.

As it turned out, Tuesday’s weren’t all that bad.

**\--**

The office of Jones-Nolan Engineers was smaller than Emma had expected. By the way David dressed himself up to the nines, she had expected more than what she saw, but David had told her they contracted out countrywide, and that Storybrooke was just their home base. She saw a small, box elevator that took her straight to the right floor with a press of a fully-illuminated circular button. After that, the rough grey carpeting was flat, but not overly worn, and there was one desk. Beyond that were two large, heavy brown doors with a brass plaque on each of them. One said _D.N, Meng_ and the other said _K.J, Meng_.

Emma caught the attention of Mary Margaret as she stepped from the elevator a little lost. The floor space wasn’t expansive because there was just David, his partner and apparently, their secretary Emma had heard so much about. Emma’s feet moved across the floor silently, her heels not making a sound against the carpet. She paused in front of the huge desk and peered over at the petite brunette behind it who wore a whiter than white blouse and a silver headset.

“Welcome to Jones-Nolan Engineers,” Mary Margaret chimed with an eerily happy voice and a smile spread so far across her face Emma though she might break. “How can I help?” She asked Emma sincerely. Mary Margaret let her eyes trail over Emma, taking in her appearance with a slight fading smile.

“Is David Nolan around?” Emma asked quietly. She rested a clenched fist to the desk in front of her and shot a glance around the office. The sun was shining outside and illuminated the working space of David’s secretary, shielding her in a bubble of orange glowing heat. Mary Margaret gave her another forced, and well practiced smile, and pressed a few buttons on her telephone.

Emma gave her a nervous smile while she waited for whomever she was calling to answer. She left the desk briefly to look around the small office space. Next to the elevator were two large palm style potted plants that were a vibrant green with dusty brown trunks and sat in hand-painted plant pots. The pots were ceramic and Emma doubted a single person could move them. Emma pulled her gloves from her hands and stuffed them into her pockets as she continued to survey the space.

Upon the lightly coloured magnolia walls, several photographs of the company’s work had been framed in expensive wooden frames and mounted with pride. Emma smiled a little, knowing it could of only been David’s doing. He had always been proud of his work, regardless of how minor it seemed to the rest of the world. One time he had spent all day building a tower from every single pack of playing cards he had found in their house, only to break down in tears when Emma had come home from her piano practice and let a gust of wind knock the thing down.

There was one picture, second from the long line of photographs that caught her attention and held it. The building was in the middle of an open plaza, and was as wide as it was tall. It looked like it was made of reflective glass, a dark grey outward covering reflecting some passers-by in its windows. Emma could only make out the doors because of the huge sign above them, and she tilted her head slightly to take in the full picture. Not only was the building beautiful, each edge and line defined by a shining glare of the sunlight, but everything outside the picture was reflected in the windows of the building that looked like a huge mirror.

“You like the new Storybrooke Library?” David chuckled behind her and Emma spun to face him shocked. He turned back to the picture when she realised it was only her brother and nodded.

“Not just the building…the photograph says so much,” she breathed, quickly turning back to face him. “You design this one?”

David shook his head modestly and took her arm in his hand. “No, that one was my partner,” he smiled pointing to the other door as they passed it. “He likes all the lines and glass. I am more of a stone man myself,” he grinned. David flashed Mary Margaret a thankful smile as he pushed the handle to his office down and motioned for Emma to enter. Emma walked through the doorway ahead of her brother and settled in a seat opposite his desk. His office was somehow familiar and a lingering scent that she recognised but couldn’t place hung in the air.

“So,” David began formally, taking a seat in the high backed chair opposite his sister. “You want to sell mom’s house?” He half asked, half suggested. Emma gave him a slow nod.

“I’m sorry, Dave,” she said with a twisted smile. “I just don’t think I can live between here and New York and keep up the rent on my place back home,” she said softly, waving her hand around in the air with each word.

“Emma,” David stopped her incoherent babble by leaning forward on his desk and resting his elbows to the padded edge. “I’m okay. We can sell mom’s house,” he said and smiled at her. “It was selfish of me to expect you to want to move back to Storybrooke anyway.” He leaned back in his chair and rearranged the sides of his jacket across his shirt. “I mean, you have your job, friends…everything you know is in New York,” he added rationally.

It was true. Emma hadn’t lived in Storybrooke for nearly a decade and despite the fact she was everything she didn’t want to be in NY, like single, an employee of the state and further from her only family than she would have liked, it was all she knew as an adult. Emma gave her brother a thankful smile and reached into her brown leather handbag and pulled out an off yellow folder. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Emma repeated earnestly, her hands gripping the folder as it hovered above the desk.

David reached over to her and took the folder. As legal co-owner, he was the second signature needed on the contract in order to sell the house. He gave her another broad smile, flipped open the folder and rested his pen to the paper, scrawling his signature into the appropriate box. “I’m sure.” He nodded, handed her the folder back and clicked the end of the pen, the nib disappearing back into the shaft. Their comfortable silence was interrupted by a buzzing on David’s desk and he gave Emma an apologetic glance before pressing the intercom. “Yes, Mary Margaret?” he asked cheerily.

Emma’s eyes traveled around the office while his receptionist spoke. Her voice sounded stressed, frustrated and at the end of its tether. “I told him you were in a meeting, but-” Her words were halted when David’s office door burst open and Killian stepped into the space.

“Killian,” David greeted his partner by his name and pushed himself up from his desk with a sigh. Emma spun around to face the man who had just entered at the mention of his name and her eyes met Killian’s with a clash of emotion. He was more handsome than she remembered him being, even with his mouth agape in shock and his eyes trained onto her so forcefully so thought she might combust. Emma blushed and looked away, swallowing the discomfort in her throat.

“Dave-” Killian began but his voice trailed off as he stared at Emma, his eyebrows pulling together and his mind desperately trying to fathom why she might be here. His heart sank. It was obvious. Emma was smart, successful, beyond gorgeous and despite their brief history, she had not seen him for enough time to have moved on. “I…uh…” he tried to speak again, but he lost the ability when Emma looked back to him and gave him a small smile.

“Killian, what’s wrong now?” David pried, moving around his desk and walking towards where Killian stood. His eyes fell to the folder in Killian’s hand and he reached out for it. Killian relinquished the folder and David flipped it open so it rested in his large, open palm, and he studied the pictures intently. 

“Just an update,” Killian said, tearing his eyes from Emma for a second to point at a part of the picture in David’s hands. “They did as they were told for a change.” Killian let a small smile grace his lips and Emma’s heart melted in her body when he looked back up to her over David’s shoulder. 

Emma was more beautiful than Killian remembered. Not that he could have forgotten. Her hair was shiny, bouncy and lolling about on her shoulders lazily, just as enticing to make hand love to as the day he saw her. For a second, he forgot where they were and when she looked up to him with a glint in her eye, he let out an audible gasp. It was quickly followed with a small cough when David looked up at him, and he fiddled with his belt to distract himself from the beauty in front of him.

Emma bit her bottom lip to hide her own laughter and pressed her hand to her mouth coyly, hiding her motion subtly. Before she could even look back up to him, she could feel his blue orbs burning into the back of her head. Emma smirked to herself and gave her hair a flick, tossing it over her shoulder and swiveling around in the chair to face him. Her hand gripped at the chair loosely and she gave him a heavy-lidded smirk. She was pleased to see him, she wouldn’t lie, and if David wasn’t standing between them, she would have flattened his aptly hard body to her brother’s expensive desk to ride him senseless.

As if no time had passed at all, David’s laughter rumbled from his chest and he looked up to Killian. He squinted his eyes and then let his gaze fall between the two people in his office. He flipped the folder closed with an audible smack and Killian jumped back to reality, quickly attuning his eyes back to David. “This is good,” he said quickly, handing Killian the folder back. Killian took it slowly, as slowly as he could without being obvious before he couldn’t take it anymore, forcing David to address the woman sitting at his desk.

“Nice to meet you,” he gestured towards Emma with a boyish smile. He shot David a glance, silently telling him how rude he was for not actually introducing them, even though he had been introduced to Emma in more than one, blissfully erotic way.

“Oh, right, sorry,” David suddenly remembered his manners and motioned for Emma to stand with an outstretched hand that made Killian seethe. When David took Emma’s hand in his and pulled her towards them, Killian tried to quell the boiling motion of his blood and forced a smile. “Emma, this is Killian, my business partner.”

Emma reached out a hand to Killian, her own dutiful smile spread across her face. With her other hand, she tucked a strand of her sunshine locks behind her ear, smoothing her fingertips over the patch of skin there that still felt so sensitive to touch since Killian had kissed it. Killian extended his hand slowly, cursing David’s hand on Emma’s elbow as he held her beside him.

“Nice to meet you, Killian,” Emma breathed, unable to hide her smile.

“Killian, this is Emma, my sister,” David said proudly, taking in Emma’s profile and beauty. He’d often wondered how they looked so different. Their grandfather had always believed that the most attractive quality in a partner was the parts you recognised in yourself. He used to say that everybody saw themselves in their perfect partner and that he was so surprised when their father had married their mother because she was way too perfect to marry a Nolan.

“Sister?” Killian hissed excitedly as their hands met and melded together like molten plastic. Emma’s fingers were as soft as he remembered and it took everything he had to not imagine them tracing over his skin, or her manicured fingernails digging into his shoulders. “You never told me you had a sister,” he tore his gaze from Emma briefly, to keep up the facade, and gave David a scolding glance.

“Yeah, well, you never asked,” David slapped him playfully on the shoulder and pulled the door open behind him.

Emma let her hand slip from Killian’s and they both ached for the contact again. Killian’s body had surged at the thought of Emma being David’s sister. That meant she wasn’t shacked up with his partner and it meant she was potentially still interested. When David passed through the doorway, they followed, Killian gave her a sly smile and mouthing, _‘sister?’_ with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Emma simply shrugged, brushing past him as close to his body as she could and leaving him shuddering in the office doorway. She intentionally pressed into him until she could feel the bulge of him against her body, biting her lip and giving him a salacious stare. “I’ll see you later,” Emma said out loud, directly looking at Killian with a hidden flash of longing in her eyes.

“Of course,” David said to her, turning to face her once again after assuming her words were for him. By the time he turned around, Emma’s eyes had left Killian’s and she was facing her brother again with an innocent smile. David pulled her into a hug and held her tight. “Don’t worry about this house thing,” he assured her again.

“Are you sure?” Emma repeated her question like a small child. David nodded forcefully and shooed her towards the elevator.

“Yes, now go. Get that house sold.” He smiled, giving her a gentle wave of his hand as he watched her press the elevator button and call the metal box to their floor. Killian stalked the lobby after he had willed away his twitching erection and settled into the space next to David.

“Nice to have met you, Emma,” he called after her as the chime of the elevator sounded and the doors opened. Emma smiled to herself as she stepped inside and turned around with a polite grin, her finger stilled on the button that kept the doors open so she could converse with him further.

“You too…uh, Killian, right?” she pretended to forget his name playfully, giving him a nervous frown to make the act all that more real. Killian nodded and let a laugh escape his chest.

“Killian,” he confirmed, giving her a slight wave before pushing his hands into his pockets as the elevator doors closed and she was gone.

When she left, David turned to go back into his office and resume the work he had begun before his sister had arrived.

“So, your sister-,” Killian began more obviously than he would have liked, looking to the floor as he followed David.

“Is off limits, my friend,” David stopped, turned to him and pointed a finger at him. “That’s if you want to stay my friend,” David smiled sarcastically and closed the door on him. Killian opened his mouth to speak but no words came out and he pressed a crooked finger to his lips.

“Right,” he confirmed quietly, a wave of panic washing over him. “Okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you to everyone who has read and left comments for this fic! I was really nervous about writing it, but now I have no reason to fear your responses <3 You are all so kind, and lovely, and without you this fic would just be as unfinished as it was ten years ago! So thank you!

There was almost no activity fluttering from the hospital when Emma returned after lunch. For whatever reason, this particular day was one where nobody injured themselves, no small children stuck shiny new pennies up their noses and hypochondriacs were apparently having a day off. Not that Emma minded. Storybrooke was a city like no other to work in. There were more weird occurrences here than most places she had worked at, and she had seen all of these in the short time she had been here.

On her first day, there was Killian. The glorious eccentric with dark blue eyes, delectably grabbable black hair that he styled so perfectly and the feathery touch that set her skin on fire. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was his smile and all she could hear was his voice. One of his finer points was the way he said her name like it was all he could say. The tiny four lettered, two syllable word leaving his lips on nothing more than a breath and always accompanied by a smile, practically melted her heart like global warming melts the ice caps.

Then there was Mr. Rochester; just as eccentric but a little less sexually appealing. The eighty-year-old war veteran was sadly in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s but his family had untaken the tremendous task of caring for him at home. He had taken a fall at home and had landed on his hip, shattering the bone and when they had x-rayed him, an abnormality had shown up on the films. Mr. Rochester had neglected to inform any member of his family he had taken a bullet, specifically one to the hip and had never once complained about it.

The only patient Emma had seen so far after lunch was yet another middle-aged man with a bad case of what he referred to as _‘itchy scrot’._ Which meant Emma had seen too many pairs of testicles and a varying assortment of too much penis that she would rather forget today. As fun as helping people was, and as much as she loved her job like nothing else, there was only so many cases of itchy genitalia anybody could handle. So when she took the chart back to the reception desk, signed and handed it over to an intern for discharging, she sighed when the next chart read exactly the same symptoms.

Of course, men were so blase about actually writing what was wrong and they all used the international code for _‘I have a problem downstairs’_ - _‘Severely itchy rash.’_ The word _‘severely’_ by itself was as transparent as half of their faces when she walked into the rooms.

Emma shook her head gently and rubbed her warm hand over her brow, gently scratching her eyebrows and resting the clipboard on the desk in front of her with a clatter. She plucked a pen from her scrub pocket, pulled off the lid and began filling out her details on the administration section of the form. The whoosh of the automatic doors caught her attention and her head whipped up from the dull task of paperwork. She thought that maybe there might have been a trauma but it was only two nurses having collected some cheap, paper cups of coffee from a nearby vender.

And then who walked in behind them, with his head held high and his blue eyes searching the lobby and made Emma’s heart twist in her chest? He wore his long black coat, black pants and polished black shoes that made him look the definition of sophistication. His crisp white shirt peeked out from behind his coat as he went to work on the big, flat buttons, unpicking them from their loops one by one and looking up to meet her gaze across the slow drizzle of hospital staff. And then he smiled.

His lips curled up at the corner of his mouth and twitched into a charming spread of pink, rosy flesh and glimmering teeth. Emma’s lips twitched into their own mirroring smile and she hung her head, hiding her blush and trying desperately to occupy herself in the chart in front of her. She skimmed over the blue paper, noting the patient's name and his obvious and severely irritating complaint before she finally looked up and saw Killian had closed half the gap between them.

He walked like he was floating and as if in slow motion, his coat trailed behind him aided only by an invisible breeze that only seemed to affect him. His stare was sultry and Emma was sure she had seen it before, if not on him then on herself. Killian’s whole demeanor was angelic and the way he graced her heart every time he was near was a miracle in itself. If Emma didn’t know better she would say he was the walking manifestation of the Persian chief prince, the patron angel of the nations, and he would certainly never fall from grace. He was the keeper of Sundays and Thursdays, the angel of courage and the harbinger of patience. If Killian was nothing else, he was the archangel himself.

Emma broke out into a smile and leaned forward on the desk, her arms folded under her and her hair falling forward to cover her face and sweep at the chart she was leaning on. Killian balled his fists and held them knuckles flat to the desk in front of her, rocking back on the balls of his feet and smirking at her through heavy lids. “Can I help you?” Emma smiled professionally, flicking her head sideways and letting her gentle curls bounce over her shoulders. Killian watched eagerly, darting his tongue out to moisten his lips before answering.

“Yes, I’m Mr. Jones. I’m looking for a doctor,” Killian said vaguely, his voice sure and full of flirtatious intent as it left his mouth. “She saw me for a bump on the head a few weeks ago,” Killian began, pointing to his still stitched scalp with his forefinger. “I’m sure I was supposed to have these checked by now.”

Emma looked up at him apologetically, hissing through her teeth and slumping her body to one side. She had forgotten, in her excitement of the whole day, to call Killian back to have his stitches out. One of her hands rested on her hip and she covered her open mouth with her hand for a second before clearing her throat and looking to the floor. She shuffled her shoes under the desk and dug her fingertips into her hip. “Do you remember your doctor’s name?” Emma teased, trying to desperately hide her smile by tucking her chin into her chest.

Killian shook his head and closed his eyes. He stopped abruptly and held up a finger to Emma, grabbing her attention. “She was very pretty,” he smiled at her, his eyes slightly darker than Emma remembered them being at his office an hour ago. “If that helps,” he shrugged playfully, looking down her body slowly and lustfully.

“Lots of us are pretty,” Emma teased. “Anything else?”

“She didn't just give me stitches,” Killian growled, leaning closer to her and giving her a sinful stare.

Emma had seen that stare before, not that long ago, and it made something inside of her fall away and go crashing to the depths of the most sinful place she had ever encountered. The sin that was Killian Jones was standing right before her, undressing her with his eyes and Emma was leaning provocatively into his stare like a lovesick teenager. A smirk tugged on the corners of her lips and Emma flicked her tongue over her plump, pink mouth to moisten her lips. She leaned forward onto the desk again and immediately Killian’s eyes darting down the v-neck of her scrubs and searched the milky skin of her cleavage with his ocean blue orbs.

Emma slowly pressed her hands together and hugged them to her chest, hiding her bosom from his hungry gaze and bringing his eyes back to hers. Killian’s smile broadened and he raised an eyebrow at her teasing display, pouting playfully when she took away what he had been watching so deliciously. If there were a way into his mind, at that particular moment in time, Killian would have been a blank slate. For once in his life, he would have erased all coherent thought of work, reason and comprehension of speech, just to replace it with the everlasting image of Emma pressed against the wall of her shower; her thigh gripped tightly to his hip and her hard, bullet-like nipples arched into his chest. 

“I can help you find her,” Emma offered coyly, her voice deeper now, changed with her growing arousal at the mere sight of him so close to her. The fact that he was so helpless to the simplest of flirtations helped too, but if there was something Emma had noticed about her body recently, it was the way it reacted when Killian was around. And the way it reacted when she hadn’t seen him for a while. Like, the way it was reacting right now. Emma shifted her gaze from his, letting it drop to the desk while she pressed her thighs together harder and felt the familiar ache between her legs. “If that helps.”

Killian cocked his head sideways slowly, taking in the shyness of her words that to him, had hidden meaning. He liked to believe he was good at reading people, a little more so when he had gotten to know them intimately, but regardless, he could swear Emma was busy stroking his tingling groin with her subliminal message. He watched her fluid movements around the side of the desk, the way her hand skated over the chart she had been inspecting like it was ice and the way her hips swayed. It was enough for Killian to inhale hard when the rest of her body stepped into view. “This way,” she almost whispered as she brushed past him, letting the back of her hand slide across the black material of his pants and his awakening member so softly it made Killian gulp hard.

He followed her obediently, along the halls of the hospital, way past where he had gotten his stitches originally. He kept his distance, staying at least three steps behind her at all times and watching the rise and fall of each of her ass cheeks and the slight bounce in her hair as she walked. Her hair was Killian’s weakness. Never had he been attracted to a particular shade of colour so much. He had dated brunettes, and he had dated redheads, even tried his hand at a few highlights and lowlights, but Emma was just the purest shade of blonde. It was new for him and her particular dirtied hue, like the colour straw turns when it gets wet in the rain, was delectable. And so soft, he couldn’t help gaining speed behind her and quickly pinching the end of her hair between his fingers before falling back to his original position.

“Maybe she’s in the on-call room,” Emma announced, turning her head slightly and seeing his figure still following her out of the corner of her eye. Killian smiled to himself and looked around the hall they were walking down. It was quieter than the main area of the hospital and fewer bodies littered the hall. A few giggly interns nearly walked into a rack of supplies because they were too busy gawking with open mouths at Killian as he walked past, which made Emma smile to herself smugly. She stopped and he nearly collided with her back before he realised where they were. Killian looked up towards the top of the white door frame and the sign that said _‘On Call Room’_. “Wait here a second,” Emma told him softly, slowly turning the door handle and walking backward into the room.

Killian almost shook with anticipation, shaking his head quickly and snapping his thoughts back to reality. Before the door even closed behind her, Emma’s arm darted out and grabbed the lapel of Killian’s jacket, pulling him into the darkened, windowless room and closing the door behind him. Killian smirked in the darkness, finding Emma’s hips and pulling her body to his as she flattened her hands out across his chest and slammed his bulk into the wall beside the door. There were no words, just the clashing of teeth, lips and tongues as Emma pulled Killian’s face to hers and ravaged his mouth with hers.

The kiss was rushed. They both knew they had little time before they were possibly discovered or Emma was called away to another groin related emergency, but right now, she had her own groin related problems, in which hers needed Killian’s so badly she couldn’t control herself. Something primal inside of her sparked to life and Killian could hardly keep up with her pace as her hands jumped from his face and trailed down the crispness of his shirt and began undoing his belt. The fact they could be caught at any time made the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck prickle to attention and she stepped back from Killian a bit, yanking on his belt and then his pants until they fell at his feet. “Emma-” he tried with a smile.

“Shut up, Killian,” Emma growled, lurching forward again on tiptoes and tilting her head to recapture his lips with hers. Killian leaned forward a bit, shuffling his feet across the floor as he moved from the painted surface, spun them around and pushed Emma hard against the wall where he had just been. Emma broke the kiss with an excited gasp and Killian leered down at her while he tugged at the two lengths of cord that were tied together at her waist, holding her scrub pants up.

“So, David’s your-” he began again, panting against her face as he kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Shut up, Killian,” she repeated with a smirk. Emma’s hand overtook his and she shimmed her pants down her legs, letting them slide off her feet as she kicked her shoes off, taking her panties with them. Killian looked at her slightly surprised but equally as up to the challenge she was offering. Hot, fast, sweaty sex in the on-call room of the hospital that had no lock on the door. Emma dug into the breast pocket of her scrubs top, much to Killian’s amusement, and she pulled the shiny, blue foiled wrapper of a condom and flashed him a grin.

“Were you expecting me?” Killian grinned wickedly at her eagerness. Emma tore into the packet quickly, pulling the lubricated ring free from the package and tossing the wrapper aside. 

“Don’t talk about my brother.” She frowned, shaking her head and biting her lip as she reached into Killian’s boxers. “Just don’t talk at all,” she said with a seductive smirk.

Killian hissed through his teeth when Emma’s hot hand wrapped around the soft skin of his erection and pulled him free of his boxers as she stroked him. He was already rock solid, the velvety skin shifting over his sensitive tip and making his legs shake. His head lolled forward against her shoulder and he bit on his lip as Emma rolled the latex sheath onto him so slowly she was in danger of ending their passionate on call romance before it had even begun. 

Before Emma had time to react, Killian bent down and hooked his hands behind her knees, bending them at a right angle and hoisting her against the wall, sliding her back up the wall to his eye level with a wicked laugh. Emma pressed her finger to his lips, giggling herself in the shadows before pressing her mouth to his. Killian leaned into her body more, pinning her against the wall with his weight aided by Emma’s firm grip of his shoulders.

Emma arched her back, pressing her shoulders harder into the wall and with a shake of her head, she flicked her hair from her face and stared down at Killian expectantly. Killian let her slip down a little until her soft, sodden folds covered his tip and she was squeezing her eyes closed with silent begging. Emma’s hand closed around the collar of Killian’s jacket and she gripped at it for dear life as Killian filled her half way, pausing her body movement there to allow her to adjust to his size, and then thrusting his hips upwards to close the gap between them.

“You're so wet, love,” Killian said in a shaky voice.

Emma whimpered, her body shaking against the wall as Killian drove into her. Her hands found the back of his neck and her fingernails dug into the lightly haired skin there each time he thrust into her. She arched her back off the wall, pulling Killian’s face to hers for a feverish kiss, matching his movements with her tongue in his mouth. When Killian shifted his angle of penetration and hit Emma’s tight bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, she hissed and bit down on Killian’s bottom lip gently. “Oh god…Killian…”

Killian smirked down at her face, contorted and constantly changing with her passion. He pulled back out of her slowly only to rebury himself quickly to the hilt within her and making her emit a tiny squeak of pained joy. Killian felt his stomach begin to burn and the familiar build up of his release each time Emma cried out against his lips. He kissed her harshly, trying to muffle her cries that he so desperately wanted to let her shout out. When Emma cried his name, it made him even harder and Killian hooked one of her legs around his waist, cupped her face with his now free hand and stroked his thumb across her cheek until she opened her eyes to look at him.

At exactly the same time as Emma opened her eyes, the door to the on-call room swung open beside them and Killian clamped his hand over Emma’s mouth, stopping his movements and holding his breath. Killian shuffled forward a little, trying to hide in the shadows and not get caught by the light that had tumbled into the room from the hall. Whoever had walked in, was paused in the doorway, looking around on the nearest cot for something they had left. Probably a pager. 

Emma slipped on the wall, impaling herself harder on Killian’s erection and the muscles in his abdomen spasmed, tightening around each other as he tried to fight back his orgasm. Emma began to whimper, letting her eyes roll closed and her body relax as she began to come. Killian pressed his hand harder to her mouth and shook his head at her, begging her to be quiet and to stop writhing against his manhood with his eyes, but Emma didn’t care that they were almost discovered. It only excited her more and she tightened her grip on Killian’s head and continued her slow grinding against him until she felt him join her in ecstasy.

There was a low grumble and a frustrated clicking of a tongue and the darkness enveloped the room again when the door swung closed in the doorframe again. Killian took his hand from Emma’s mouth and replaced it with his lips, kissing her through his orgasm as he emptied himself into the condom with jerky, shallow thrusts. When the lights behind his eyes had faded away, he slipped from her and a content smile spread across Emma’s face as she stepped down. “We almost got caught,” he laughed in disbelief, leaning against the wall and rolling his head sideways to look at her. Emma erupted in giggles next to him.

Emma mirrored his actions and smirked. “Almost,” she repeated his word, leaning over and planting a kiss to his mouth and rolling sideways as she did. Emma pressed her half-naked body into his as they kissed, their tongues exploring mouths all over again and new groans coming from each of them. Killian’s hand slid over the thin fabric of her scrub top and jumped to the bare flesh of her behind where his long, nimble fingers began to palpate the soft flesh. “Hey,” Emma objected, pulling his hands from her skin with a smirk.

“What?” Killian objected weakly, tilting his head with mock confusion and grinning at her. Emma just shook her head and looked around the floor for her panties and scrub pants, squatting rather than bending and pulling them up into her arms. Killian licked his lips, swallowing the taste of Emma down his throat hungrily and bent forward to pull his boxers and pants back up. “You know, some people would-” he began, looking down to his hands as he fastened his buckle.

“Call this a relationship?” Emma said dryly, arching a brow at him as she tied her scrubs back up and smoothed her hair down. Killian looked up to her and a smile played across his lips when she swayed towards him provocatively. “Or were you going to say, _‘be surprised by our current situation’_?” She teased, repeating his words from their first passionate lovemaking.

Killian smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt and smirked at her boyishly. “Emma, we keep having sex. Mostly standing up. I know I’m surprised,” he laughed softly stepping towards her, hooking his finger into the waistband of her scrub pants and drawing her closer to him with a half-lidded glare. “I never thought you’d have sex at work,” he whispered.

“Well, it would be difficult at your office, considering your partner is my brother.” She shrugged, draping her arms over his shoulders and carding her fingers through the softness of his hair.

“Yeah, about that-” Killian began, but Emma slid her arms to hold the back of his neck and pulled his face towards her for another kiss. Lost in yet another fantastic lip lock, Killian simply leaned into her embrace, humming contently against her lips and smiling towards the end.

“It can wait until later,” Emma said, stepping back from him and smoothing her hands down his chest, watching her hands as they flattened out the wrinkles in his shirt. “I need to get back to work,” she said sadly, quickly offering him a thankful smile as she stepped towards the door. Killian reached out for her hand and pulled her back into the shadows, crushing her body to his and kissing her again. “Killian!” Emma giggled against his lips, pushing weakly against his chest as he kissed her. 

“As you wish,” he pouted, unable to resist running his hand down the hair that rested to Emma’s shoulders. Even in the darkness, he could see its light shade and the way it framed her face so delicately, especially when she smiled. Letting the softness fall from his fingertips, Killian stepped into line behind her and waiting in the entrance when Emma pulled the door open. She hurried him through the doorway when the coast was clear and then by the time she followed five minutes later, he was gone.

Emma was almost at the reception area again to pick up another chart when she heard Killian’s name. She walked past the nurse's station slower, lowering her head and tucking her hair behind her ear so she could hear the conversation more efficiently. One of the nurses, Jenny, was saying how she had been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of Killian Jones.

“What are you talking about? He’s gorgeous!” one of her colleagues commented in Killian’s defence. “He’s tall, dark, handsome-” she grinned, clutching a chart to her chest and daydreaming.

“And a dog,” Jenny said definitely. “I swear to god. Total dog.”

Emma stopped opposite the station and busied herself with a patient's chart outside of their room. She had no idea who the patient was, or why they were even there, but she had to find something to distract herself long enough to hear the end of Jenny’s tale. 

“We slept together once,” Jenny added and Emma’s heart was crushed. It crumbled in her chest and her face went pale and she lifted the next page of the chart with a shaking hand. “And then he never called me again. Kept saying I shouldn’t call him again,” Jenny scoffed, laughing with a shake of her head.

“Wow, he doesn’t look like the kind of guy…” her friend piped in again, for some reason trying to defend the honour of a man she had never met before.

“Oh, he is,” Jenny nodded quickly. “He tells you you’re beautiful, and then you’re nothing,” she shook her head sadly. Emma began to breathe a little harder. Killian had told her she was beautiful, on more than one occasion and she felt sick to her stomach. “I wonder why he was here?” Jenny screwed her mouth sideways and bit the inside of her mouth, her brow knitted together with thought as she shifted her weight onto her other leg and considered her thought. Emma blushed a little and scurried from the doorway, her shoes squeaking on the tiled floor.

She felt like she had been kicked in the head. It was thumping and dizzy with thoughts and a million questions. There had to be two Killian Jones’ in the hospital today. Two tall, dark, handsome men called Killian Jones. Emma ground her teeth and shook her head at her own stupidity. There was never anything good in her life and now the man she was falling in love with was actually nothing more than a womanising scumbag who had apparently, slept with half the hospital staff already. 

Emma would see Killian later, but she would be ready.


	7. Chapter 7

Emma was insanely mad. More than mad, she was downright livid. She cursed to herself as she drove through traffic, honking her horn at a nearby taxi driver who stared at her scowl with surprise. His eyes were wide, his hands were tossed into the air at her, and Emma was sure she could lip read his profanity as she drove past in her beat-up yellow bug. The truth was he wasn’t even in her way. Emma just thought she could vent some of her pent up rage that she had tried to conceal for half of the day. It didn’t work.

The bug pulled to a halt outside of the old, weathered house she had been calling home. She slapped the stick shift into neutral and the engine chugged a few times as if in painful protest before it finally went silent. Emma leaned back in her seat, twisting her body in the weathered leather of the interior with a squeak, and reached over into the back seat awkwardly to retrieve her purse. Yanking it from the seat onto her lap, she bunched the strap in her hand, wrenching the car keys from the ignition and pushed the door open harshly.

She didn’t have to but Emma slammed the door and locked it with her jaw clenched tightly and her cheeks flushed red with anger. She wasn’t mad at Killian for sleeping with Jenny. She had no right because she hadn’t known him back then. She hadn’t even known Jenny at the time and she seemed like a nice enough girl now, always wearing a smile, her lips curled into a pleasing curve, and her dirty blonde hair always sat lazily against the salmon of her scrubs.

Emma wanted to rip out Jenny’s dirty blonde hair, stuff it into her perfectly shaped smile and make her wish she had never told the entire hospital Killian was a dog. But then, Emma wasn’t even sure if he was or not. She had met him at work, known him for less time than she had treated him as a patient and had recently found out that he was her brother’s partner. Surely, if Killian were a decent man, David would have introduced them before now?

Emma shoved her key into the lock of her front door and practically kicked it open. It hit the coat rack behind it and bounced back towards her, rattling on its hinges as it did so. Emma stepped through the doorway, wrenching her coat from her shoulders and hanging it over the end of the stairs. She slammed the front door and the sound echoed through the house, making her jump a little and hide her face in her hands.

What was she becoming? She had never been this sort of woman, jealous and easily provoked into anger because of a man. A man, she reminded herself, that she had barely known five minutes and a man she hated for the mere fact he could send her wild by just looking at her. Killian was like no other man she had ever met. He was smart, well established in a high paid job and he knew it. His confidence made her smile because he reminded her of David. David was a good man and Emma had always wished she could find someone just as kind-hearted and professional as her brother, but she wanted the perfect combination of family man and businessman, and then, as if by magic Killian had found her.

It was no use, she had to know. She hated herself for even thinking of it. She hated herself even more then she hated Jenny. Emma wasn’t one to deceive people for her own personal gain, and the thought that she had been a victim to Killian’s supposed womanizing crushed her heart. But she had to know if he was who Jenny had said he was. When, and if, Killian arrived at eight, she would be ready to question him.

\--

Killian balled his fists in his pants pocket as he walked down the street. March was mild, usually, but this one had been thwart with cold snaps and a light dusting of frost littered the pavement this evening. He only had his shirt on under his khaki green jacket and even that was too thin to stop the cold from invading his bones, warmth fighting off the chill everywhere except his extremities and his spine. The cold had seeped into his supporting vertebrae and made him shiver slightly, exhaling a condensed breath out into the street through chattering teeth.

His feet fell silently on the ground, his rubber-soled shoes offering no grip against the whitened concrete as he carried on. Why he had chosen to walk from the office he didn’t know. Maybe it was something about the way she had smiled, or maybe it was the innuendo in her voice that made his entire skin come alive with a shivering pleasure, but he had left his car in the parking lot in his haste to get to Emma. He turned onto her street, the dull yellow glow from the streetlamps illuminating his hunched figure as he walked through their pools of light, head lowered to the ground.

A small dog yapped at him from across the street, and he lifted his head briefly to receive a stare from an elderly lady attached to the other end of a decrepit black poodle. She gripped at her long, light brown coat and clutched it tighter at the matching leather leash as her dog barked, piercing the night with its high pitched cries. Its feet scraped across the path and she gave it a tug of encouragement, pulling it sideways as they crossed paths and Killian shook his head with a smile. Content he had seen off the potential threat, the dog let out a snort and trotted along side his owner happily.

Killian passed a large, black box type truck parked on the opposite side of the road, identical to David’s. For a second, his heart fluttered and he flushed pink, instantly recalling David’s words to him in the office. He had made it clear his sister was out of bounds, but Emma had given him totally different, undeniable signals. If she wanted him, as much as he was craving her right now, he would soon know. He sighed, relieved when a couple stumbled from their friend’s house and the man beeped his truck, two side lights glowing bright orange as it unlocked electronically and they stepped in. Neither were David, so he felt safer.

David scared him. He was scared of his best friend and because of what? Because the woman he was falling for was his younger sister? Killian wondered if he had known Emma and David for longer, maybe if he’d grown up with them, then David would still feel the same way or he would welcome Killian’s advances on his younger sibling. Maybe he and Emma would be a couple, who knew. The one sure thing Killian knew was he was afraid to tell David he already knew his sister in more ways than one and he could only imagine, only wanted to imagine, David’s reaction if he were to find out.

Finally, Killian reached the towering house at the end of the street that had long since gone to sleep and become enveloped in darkness. There was no streetlamp outside of Emma’s house, just the rickety wooden gate at the end of the footpath and a few half dying shrubs littering the slightly overgrown front yard. Killian had to be honest, if he was buying the house on presentation alone, he would have long passed it by and gone for higher game. Not that he had any experience gardening anyway, because he just designed the attractions, not maintained them. It was much easier to draw a tree here and a rose bush there than it was to actually keep the things alive.

A smile crept across Killian’s lips as he climbed the steps and gave himself one last look over on the top step. He was dressed for work, except his top buttons had been popped open, his tie removed and left in his office and the green khaki jacket he wore was his best attempt at casual. And also his worst. He took a deep breath, smoothing his slightly sweaty palms over his thighs and soothing his nervousness before he tapped gently on the door.

There was no sound from inside the house and he reached out to knock again, this time a little louder, in three distinct thuds. He cupped his hand over his mouth, shifting from one foot to the other in a dance of uneasiness as he tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. It was clear tonight, no clouds smattering the dark blue of the sky and shielding the bright white twinkling stars from his view. He turned around, inspecting the stars that flickered and flashed above his head, so far away and yet still just as beautiful as they were always portrayed in literature. He was so lost in the cool darkness, he almost didn’t hear the front door creak open.

“Killian?” Emma said, a little surprised but her voice laced with excitement. Killian spun to face her with a startled look, his cheeks instantly flushing with pink as he fumbled over his words. His eyes roamed her body, tucked half behind the door, starting at her bare feet, up her thin, grey pyjama pants that were tied in a bow at her waist and finally over her matching grey summer singlet that hugged her skin gracefully. “Killian,” Emma repeated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear quickly. “What are you doing here?”

Emma had spent the entire evening tucked up on the couch, trying to take out her anger on the remote control as she flicked through the channels on the TV after Killian had not arrived at the time they had arranged over text. It didn’t matter how hard she tried to avoid it, there was always some kind of drama show about a cheating boyfriend glaring back at her from the old fashioned television. She had been so ready for Killian to show up, but now she was just tired. 

She had been waiting a long time and when he hadn’t shown up by eight, she figured Jenny was probably right and he had moved on to his next mark. Furious more than hurt, Emma had yelled a little at herself and couldn’t believe how stupid she had been. But now he was here, standing in front of her in the freezing dead of night and her heart involuntarily softened for a second. He was, if at all possible, even more handsome than when she had him pinned against the wall in the on-call room earlier that day, and he looked just as helpless.

“Well,” Killian began, digging his hands into the pockets of his jacket and straightening his arms out as far as they would go. He looked to the floor as he spoke, the word leaving his mouth in a low sultry whisper. He grinned to himself, recalling the warmth of her hands earlier that day, imagining them on his length as she had coaxed him into hardness. He looked up to her and his face broke out in a wider grin. “It’s later,” he told her with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Emma arched her brow at him and relaxed against the door. Her hand gently gripped the edge of the wood, and she pressed her chest into it as she smiled at him. “It is. It's very late,” she mentioned slowly, her eyes flicking over his body, hunched in on itself and his breath hanging visibly in the air as it left his mouth. “You want to come in?” she asked, half concerned that he was freezing on her doorstep and half intrigued as to what he wanted from her so late.

Emma pulled the door open a little wider and without a second thought, Killian walked inside. The warmth of Emma’s house hit him like a tornado, instantly making his cold hands tingle and his cheek flush with red and white splotches as they warmed. He pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together whilst taking in the decoration of her house that he had so hastily forgotten last time he stepped into the building.

It was old. It even smelt old, but it had a few finishing touches of modern scattered here and there. The hall was just a small square space at the bottom of the stairs with a coat rack and a wooden structure full of women's shoes. Emma’s had been tossed next to it, sitting one on top of the other in a messy heap. “Is something different here?” he smirked, following her into the lounge.

“No,” Emma said cheerily, turning to face him as she walked backwards. Her hair bobbed up and down on her shoulders and she brushed it from her brow with a shake of her head. “You just didn’t notice last time,” she added dryly, turning away from him and walking towards the couch. Killian smirked to himself, dragging a finger across his lips to hide his smile. “What’s on your mind, Killian?”

“Okay, so why didn’t you tell me David was your brother?” he blurted out loud, stopping her in her tracks. Emma turned to face him with a narrowed gaze, taking a step towards his stilled body.

“You never asked,” Emma shrugged with a smile, echoing her brother’s earlier words. Killian looked away from her and let out a nervous laugh. “Why?” Emma asked, closing the gap between them and tracing a single finger down his chest over the soft fabric of his shirt. She watched her finger intently, gently gripping at the cardboard texture of his collar when her hand smoothed back up to his neck. “Does it matter?”

Killian squirmed under her delicate touch, letting a nervous laugh escape his mouth as he reached up and gripped her hand in his. “No, it’s just-,” he said quickly. “David will kill me if he knew what I’ve…what we’ve done,” he said firmly. Emma’s skin jolted a little because Killian’s hands were still cold from the outside and she pulled her hands from his and quickly laid her flat palms to his chest.

“Are you scared of my brother?” Emma smiled, genuinely amused by Killian’s sudden shyness. Killian cocked his head at her and scoffed.

“No,” he said weakly, giving her a worried stare. “Should I be?”

Emma shrugged and inhaled deeply. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, right?” Killian looked at her with a silent, lustful glare. His mouth twisted up into a smile and his heart skipped a beat when Emma dipped her head and her hair fell in front of her face, shielding her brilliantly soft hazel orbs from his view. He couldn’t help himself. He had to touch it. He reached out and Emma lifted her head when he touched her skin with nothing more than a light, feathering tickle of his fingertips and tucked a section of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re very naughty, Dr Swan,” Killian smirked, scanning every perfect detail of her face. “And I know I’ve said this before,” Killian began with a low whisper, repeating the tucking action of his hand. He brought his hand to cup her cheek as he spoke, keeping her eye contact the entire time. “But you are beautiful,” he said softly, giving her a slight nod of validation.

“Killian,” Emma said his name softly but firmly and looked away from him embarrassed by his remark. That was it. His tell. His trademark. Exactly as Jenny had said earlier that day and it had taken him all of about three minutes to actually tell her she was beautiful. Her next words were cut off by the feeling of Killian pressing his lips to hers, erasing all rational thought from her mind temporarily and rendering her helpless.

Killian moved quickly, cupping her face in his warming hands and holding her face against his while he kissed her. He tilted his head sideways, gently easing her bottom lip open with his own and sucking on the slightly swollen flesh softly. Emma let out a moan and arched her body into his, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing his body even closer to hers. Killian stepped back from her body but did not break his kiss as he roughly tugged on his jacket and let it fall to the end of his arm. He caught it in one hand, tossing it sideways onto the couch.

Emma felt her cheeks begin to burn and she broke the kiss abruptly, gently pushing against Killian’s chest to halt his advances. “This is moving too fast. What are we doing here?” she said with a frustrated growl, reaching up and gripping Killian’s hand that was holding her face. She turned her face and planted a soft kiss to his palm before pulling it from her skin and instantly missing the contact.

“What do you mean, love?” Killian asked her in a dizzy voice, dazed and confused by the sudden loss of contact. His eyes fluttered open and his breath was a little ragged as he watched her remove his hand from her skin. Killian didn’t know what was going on. He thought Emma wanted this, wanted him, as much as he wanted her. “Emma?”

“Killian, what are we doing?” Emma repeated, looking down to her feet that were shuffling together on the floor. Killian wiped his mouth discreetly and let out a frustrated breath, averting his gaze from her to the ceiling.

“I thought we were going to be doing each other,” he laughed, rolling his eyes sideways a little. His remark was met with silence and he swallowed her taste down, the combination of cinnamon-laced hot chocolate and cookies sliding down his throat like thorns. He rested his hands to his belt, pulling at his pants awkwardly and looking to the floor. “Okay, wrong time to joke, Killian,” he said slowly to himself.

“Is that what this is? A joke?” Emma snapped, lifting her gaze to look back at him. Killian frowned as he lifted his eyes to meet hers again and shook his head slowly. “Am I just your newest venture, Killian? Another notch on your bedpost?”

“Not at all. Emma, how could you think-,” he began hurriedly but her angry words cut him off. She turned from him and stalked towards the TV. Bending over slightly she banged her hand against the switch and it whizzed a little as the screen went black.

“So what happens when the sex is boring, Killian?” Emma spat, spinning to face him again, her hair turning a second later than she did and finally bouncing to a stop on her shoulders. “What happens when David finds out and…and,” she stuttered, waving her hands towards the lounge window and pointing out into the darkness as if David was outside.

“Emma, where has this come from?” Killian asked, still very confused by her outburst. “When I walked through that front door, you were practically all over me!” he yelled, turning his body sideways and pointing through the archway at the front door.

“I was all over you?!” Emma quipped with a low laugh. “Tell me, Killian. How many times do you usually sleep with someone before you get bored, huh? How long have I got?”

Killian turned his hands upside down so his palms were facing upwards and he just stared at her. His mouth was open a tad and his brow was furrowed so much his skin around the creases had turned white on his forehead. “Emma,” Killian started, trying to ask her what was wrong but she stormed towards him brandishing a sternly pointed finger that she jabbed into his chest with each word.

“Don’t Emma me! I know what you did to Jenny!” she screeched at him, slapping her two tiny hands to his chest and pushing him backwards. Killian stumbled a little, looking behind him as he tripped over the edge of the rug onto the flatter carpet. He spun his contorted face towards her and shook his head again, shielding himself from her with raised arms.

“Jenny? What? Who’s Jenny?” Killian stuttered, his face prickling with pinkness and his heart breaking in his chest. This was it, he was losing her, the one thing in his life that could soothe his raging mind. Somehow he had managed to upset her, and he had no idea what he had done. Everything he had ever done in his life would come crashing down around him, or come up from the depths of Hell and sink its jaw firmly into his ass and never let go. 

Emma crossed her arms and turned away from him, letting out a long sarcastic laugh. She shook her head and bit her bottom lip between her teeth, her shoulders still shaking from her laughter. Killian looked at her questioningly, trying to catch her gaze with his. “You don’t even remember their names, do you?” she said slowly, finally lifting her gaze to look at him again. He looked shocked but Emma figured it was probably part of his act and he was so well practised in the art of deception he could pull it off so convincingly. She had her proof. Killian Jones was indeed a dog, a sexual pirate, pillaging women and leaving them spent and used. Her eyes were dark and she shook her head again. “Unbelievable.”

“Their names?” Killian asked, dumbfounded. “Emma, love, I’m not like that,” Killian began again but Emma exploded. She leaned over and grabbed his jacket from the couch, balling it in her hands and then launching it at his chest with gritted teeth. 

“I’m not your love,” she spat. “Get out. Get out!” she screamed at him. Emma took two huge steps towards him, pulling back her hand and slapping him across the face with an open palm. Killian’s face stung instantly and he stumbled back further, tensing under her attack as Emma weakly took out her anger against his chest. He dropped his jacket and his keys in his pocket jingled as they hit the floor, his arms shooting out to grab her wrists.

“Emma, listen to me!” he implored, her skin under his hands turning pink as she struggled from his grasp. “Listen!” he repeated louder and she began to still in his arms. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She hated him right now but a part of her, somewhere deep in her subconscious toyed with the idea that Jenny was wrong. Killian wasn’t the guy who had slept with her and then never called her back. She was mistaken and another tall, dark, handsome engineer called Killian was to blame.

“What, Killian? What could you possibly say right now?” Emma coughed out on a sob as her tears began to flow from her eyes. Her words were abruptly cut off by Killian’s lips pressed firmly to hers and his hands wrapping themselves around her shoulders to hold her to him. Emma frowned and pushed against his chest again, breaking the kiss and tearing her quivering lips from his. “What are you doing?” she snapped at him, looking directly into his darkened blue orbs and seeing nothing but remorse.

“Proving you wrong,” he said gently, flickering his gaze back down to her lips and pausing for her reaction. Emma was still for a moment, looking between his lips and his eyes, the sincerity in his words taking her by surprise. Something in his voice told her he was desperate and Emma wanted nothing more than to let him show her, to make love to her as he kissed away her tears. The look in his eyes, the soft blue hues of his circular orbs gave him credibility, and Emma caved, utter confusion clouding her mind. Before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed his face in her hands and crushed his lips back to hers, devouring his mouth hungrily with her own for a few seconds, but when she felt him react, she pulled away.

“Sex isn’t proof, Killian,” she said softly, smoothing her thumb across the corner of his mouth and looking away from him sadly. She stepped away and cleared her throat. “Now, please leave,” she said, crossing an arm across her chest and running a hand through her tousled locks timidly.

Killian bent down and picked his jacket back up off the floor, bunching it in one hand and sighing heavily. “Whatever you think of me, Emma, you’re wrong,” Killian said slowly, turning from her and disappearing through the archway into the lobby. Emma bit down on her thumbnail, staring at the patch of carpet where he had just been. “I’ll prove it.” She heard the door close with a small click and buried her face in her hands, pushing her hair from her face with a heaving sigh.


	8. Chapter 8

Emma had spent most her working day avoiding Jenny and making sure she kept herself busy. She didn’t even want to think about Killian, and seeing the smug, thin lipped smile on Jenny’s face made her seethe. But why? Killian had not proposed a relationship to her officially, and she had not minded really, her intention to leave Storybrooke always there. They had sex and it was good beyond arguable doubt, but she had found out the hard way that Killian was a liar. Most men were in her experience, and a tiny part of her wished she could have met her father’s doppelganger instead of Killian so she wouldn’t be feeling the emptiness she did now.

Killian Jones wasn’t special and Emma had spent a good portion of the day asking herself why she had let him in so willingly. It was unusual for her to be physically attracted to both a man’s body and his brain so easily. In most cases, men lacked the ability to own both a good body and a good brain, but Emma had seen something different in Killian. He was smart, and he was charming, and he was physically fit and healthy. He was, in terms of the female perspective, the ideal mate. He was perfect. He could provide, he could entertain and he could protect. Maybe that was why she had let him into her home, her shower, her heart and her bed so easily.

Maybe that’s why she hurt so much right now.

Some people would call her some unsavoury names for what had happened between them. If they were in a relationship, a real working couple that kissed, cuddled and held hands in public, then the shower, bedroom and on-call room romps would be considered lovemaking. They would be two, consenting adults in a relationship that made love, but because they had neither accepted nor denied they were a couple and had told no one about them being together, then Emma and Killian were just having sex.

 _‘Were’_ was the correct term, as in past tense. After Killian’s little amnesia stint last night, Emma never wanted to see him again. She hated him, but not the hate of an indignant spouse but the hate of a woman who had been lied to. Killian had lied to her; she had proved that in her very own lounge. He had looked her in the eye and denied the fact he had slept with Jenny. If he had admitted it she might have been a little more understanding, but he hadn’t and she had no mercy left. Better to make a clean break now before things got complicated.

Standing in her kitchen, the bright LED lighting shining down onto her back as she made herself a cup of coffee, Emma had never felt so depressed. Even if she did hate Killian right now, it didn’t stop her from missing him. Emma leaned sideways against the edge of her counter, crossing her bare feet at her ankles and laying one arm over her chest. Her other arm was occupied with stirring her coffee, whisking the black, steaming liquid into a hurricane in her mug, idly wishing he was there to comfort her.

Emma had been stirring for a little over five minutes and her hand had grown clammy from its close proximity to the steam radiating from the coffee. She had taken a personal day so that he couldn’t find her at the hospital, and had gone for comfort dressing; Large, long pyjama pants that scuffed the floor under her heels and oversized red t-shirt. She didn’t remember where she got it from but it made her feel safe when she was feeling vulnerable. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail but a few stray strands sprang from behind her ears and fell to frame her face. Emma didn’t know why she was even having a coffee. There was no reason in it and she rarely even drank hot beverages unless she was in a restaurant, and even then it was hot chocolate, but for some reason, the churning blackness reminded her of Killian and she longed to taste him on her tongue again.

And then, as if on cue, her phone began to ring. Its shrill tone circulated her hall, echoing into the kitchen. Emma didn’t look up because she knew it was Killian. He’d called the house so many times since yesterday that she had stopped running for the phone in case it was someone else. Emma hadn’t said a word to him each time, just slammed the phone back down and stormed off with a growl. She could unplug the line at the wall, but then she wouldn’t get the tingling feeling she craved so much every time Killian’s sultry drone jumped from the answering machine.

“Emma, it’s me again,” Killian audibly sighed into his phone and his breathy grunt vibrated around Emma’s house. She stopped her stirring for a second, dragging the metal spoon up the side of the mug and letting a few drips fall back into the void. She padded from the kitchen, intrigued to be closer to his voice. Emma wished she were closer to him. Her heart ached for him and every time she tried to tell herself he was nothing, he would call back and she would go crashing back into the depressive void of wanting him again.

Emma paused next to the answering machine, trailing her finger over the speaker softly and tenderly like it was Killian’s face and she was teasing his lips with her thumb. If it were Killian, the corner of his mouth would turn up in a shy smile and he would dip his head low, averting his gaze with a slight chuckle. To Emma’s disappointment, the machine simply sat silent, Killian’s frustrated sighs the only sound coming from their speaker. 

“I don’t know-,” He paused. “What do you want me to say?” His voice begged from the black, rubbery machine. He sighed again and Emma could hear him moving around, probably undressing for bed. It was late and she wondered why she was even still up. She cast a glance outside into the dark street, the only light coming from a few street lamps further down the street, glowing down onto the pavement and the bright glare of a car’s headlight at it drove past. The engine roared up the neighbourhood and a dog started barking in the distance, hastily told to be quiet by a gruff voice.

“Maybe you’re in bed already,” Killian’s words trailed off. If it was possible, Emma thought his voice was even more seductive than in person, deepened by the travel along wires and communication technologies that had it jumping into the room and making love to her ears. “I think we need to talk, Emma. There has been a mistake somewhere. I’m not the man you think I am. I would never-,” Killian softly pleaded with no one, his last words tinted with frustration. There was a long pause and Emma thought he was gone before she heard the crackle of movement from the other end of the phone. “I really like you, Emma. I miss you, love,” Killian finally whispered, letting his words linger in the phone a little longer before finally hanging up.

Before she knew what she was doing, Emma’s hand shot out and she grabbed the phone from the stand, clutching it to her ear in the hopes he was still there. Why had she turned off her cell again? Being away from him was becoming increasingly difficult and it had only been a day. The single dial tone entered her ear cavity and echoed against her eardrum, indicating the line was dead and Killian had gone. Emma’s entire body relaxed a little but the butterflies still fluttered around her stomach as she involuntarily clutched the phone harder to her ear. Even if she harboured a lingering doubt, Emma still missed him like nothing she could describe.

\--

“ Mr Jones,” the hospital administrative secretary sighed from behind the desk in a tired tone. “Dr Swan doesn’t want to see you.” Her voice was defiant and even though she was small and very finely built, she was trying to act as aggressive as she could.

Killian shook his head, letting out a sigh with a downturned frown. He shuffled his feet against the tiled floor and the faint smell of cleaning fluid wafting in the halls of the pristine hospital. “I’ve just come to see a nurse and have my stitches out,” Killian admitted sadly. “I’m not here to see Em…Dr. Swan,” he correctly quickly, gulping hard at the mere thought of her.

It had been half a week since Emma had avoided him completely and he had postponed coming to the hospital to get his stitches removed in respect of her wishes. Emma didn’t want to see him and he felt too strongly about her to upset her anymore. Somehow he had already managed to slip into his own depression, the loss he felt too strong to deny even to himself, but the pull of the stitches against his scalp had become too painful to ignore anymore. He just hoped he could be in and out before Emma spotted him.

The receptionist looked up at him and she softened a little. He looked pathetic and beaten, his three days of facial growth starting to curl back towards his skin and his eyes blackened from lack of sleep. She tore her eyes from his dishevelled clothing long enough to type his name into the computer and make a note that he was here. “You’re lucky,” she lied, bumping his name to the top of the list through pity. “If you go straight to curtain three, Jenny can take your stitches out now, and then you can go get cleaned up before Emma sees you like that,” she stared at him over the rim of her oval glasses and gave him a serious nod.

Killian nodded in agreement and took the chart she handed to him. “Thank you,” he breathed, his mouth twisting at the corner in the first smile that had graced his lips in nearly four days. It didn’t sound like a long time, and he had seen Emma for even less time, but now that he knew she possibly never wanted to see him again, he was so scared. He was scared of going to work every day and having to explain to David why he wasn’t working to his full potential. He was scared of having to admit to himself that maybe he had been wrong at one stage in his life and losing Emma was some kind of wicked karma. Most of all, Killian was scared of never being able to tell her how much he now realised he loved her.

The hospital was quiet today, especially for a Wednesday. Emma always had half days on Wednesdays and she had previously agreed to let him take her to lunch today. Killian dragged his feet, keeping his head hanging low as he made his way into the triage unit and tried not to think about it. He paused and his rubber soled shoes squeaked on the floor underfoot while he lifted his head and inspected the vibrant red numbers hanging from a solid metallic pole on each cubicle. He spied curtain three and then saw some shadows moving underneath the rippled pink fabric, cast across the green of the linoleum floor by some hospital issue slip-on shoes.

Pulling back the curtain, Killian saw the back of the nurse he had been assigned. He shuffled into the cubicle and took a seat down next to the tray of implements, each one as sharp and silvery as the one sitting next to it. They all rested on some dark blue tissue paper and Killian stared at his reflection in them for a second.

“Okay, what can I do for you today?” The nurse chimed, her dirty blonde locks swinging half a second slower than her body as she turned around to look at the man in front of her. She was still arranging her latex gloves on her fingers and reached out to pick up the chart Killian had left sitting next to the tray on tools in front of him. “Killian…Jones?” she gasped shocked, snapping her head up to look at him with wide eyes.

Killian knew who she was as soon as she had turned around. Her hair had changed length but was still the same colour. Light, yellowing blonde mixed with some traces of darker, browner hairs but it had grown longer and she’d straightened it. Her cheeks flushed with a pink glow and she went rigid, her fingers turning white against the cool plastic of the chart in her hand. The silence in the cubicle was deafening and Killian’s eyes darted to the nametag that was pinned to the pink jersey covering her salmon scrubs.

“Jenny?” he spat, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest. “That’s original,” he growled, staring at her.

Jenny shifted her position and hugged the clipboard to her chest, the plastic of her nametag clattering against the metallic clip at the top of the board. “I had to change my name,” she shrugged, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “I couldn’t get within a hundred yards of you called Shelley, now could I?”

Killian clenched his jaw. “That was the point, Shelley,” he droned angrily. “It’s called a restraining order for that exact reason.” Killian stood and paced the cubicle, rubbing his fingers through his stubble and exhaling hard. His breath condensed against his palm and he balled his hand into a fist, pounding it loosely against his forehead. “I could have you arrested right now,” he grunted, turning to look at her.

Jenny, formerly Shelley, stalked towards him, stopping by the table of implements and resting Killian’s chart on the tray with a clatter of metal against plastic. She reached out to touch him on the arm, smoothing her fingertips over the fabric of his coat as her eyes molested his body. “No,” she sighed dramatically. “You really couldn’t Killian.”

Killian whipped his gaze towards her and narrowed his eyes. He shook her hand from his arm and took a step back from her, stumbling into the cupboard of medications behind him. He stared at her questioningly, tilting his head and letting out a sadistic laugh as he balanced his weight behind him on the countertop, eyes wide with realisation. “Of course.” Killian shook his head, cursing himself for being so ridiculous. “You’ve changed your name,” he breathed.

“That’s right,” Shelley said triumphantly, taking another step towards him. “And the restraining order was issued for a Shelley Madison, not Jennifer Madison,” she smirked evilly. “You can’t touch me, Killian. Although, I wish you would.” She pouted and gave him a hungry stare, biting her bottom lip.

Killian looked at her again and took another step away from her. “You’re crazy,” he whispered. “I don’t know what you think you’ve accomplished by doing this…” Killian began but her excited rant cut him off.

“Don’t you see?!” She sang enthusiastically, clapping her hands together at her chest. “Killian, we can be together now. You and I can be together, just like we want.” She nodded at him with a broad smile on her face.

“What?!” Killian snapped, holding out his hand and pointing to her. “You want that,” he accused. “I never wanted that. You…” he said, pointing to her menacingly and letting a short burst of laughter bubble from his throat. “You are insane, Shelley.” Killian pulled open his jacket and reached into the inside pocket for his cell phone. He swiped the screen open and punched in three numbers.

“What are you doing, my love?” Shelley soothed, watching his hands as he dialled and then lifted the cell phone to his ear. Her smile faded and her eyes searched his face.

“I’m calling the bloody police, Shelley,” Killian said loudly, turning from her and stalking across the cubicle again. “There is absolutely no way you managed to change your name legally,” he accused sharply, pointing at her again. Shelley blushed and looked down to her feet, confirming his accusation. “And you are breaking the terms of the order right now!” Killian bellowed, pointing to the floor angrily.

“Okay, so I sort of acquired a fake ID and stuff,” Shelley said with a shrug, walking towards him and reaching for the phone pressed to his head. Her long, delicate fingers traced over Killian’s knuckles, sliding down to his palm and across the cell phone. Killian spun to her and pulled her hand away from his roughly.

“Don’t touch me,” he spat, his voice dark and void of emotion. “Everything you touch just dissolves around me!” he roared. “I went on one date with you. One date! We never kissed. We never slept with each other. And yet, you thought the complete opposite and my life was ruined!” He took a step towards her, his blood boiling under his skin and making his entire body hot and clammy.

Shelley smiled at him sweetly and Killian thought he might throw up. “Why are you so mad, lover?” she whispered at him, flicking her tongue out across the cherry red lipstick on her lips.

“Mad?!” Killian laughed wildly, turning from her again. “I’m not mad,” he shouted sarcastically. “Why would I be mad? I’ve only had to move house, change my car, my email, my phone numbers,” he trailed off, waving his arms erratically around the small, enclosed space. He took a long breath, trying to push away the hatred he felt for her. “I had to get a bloody restraining order to keep you away from me!”

“That’s just a technicality,” Shelley smiled, running her fingers through her hair. She turned from him, sighing dramatically and rolling her eyes. “Like that sickly cute blonde you’ve been seeing.” Her voice turned darker, tainted with jealousy, and Killian spun to face her, his jaw hanging open.

“You,” he growled accusingly, willing the police to answer their ringing telephone. Everything became clear. Jenny wasn’t someone he had been trying to remember for the last three days; Jenny was someone he had been trying to forget for nearly two years. Only, Emma didn’t realise that and he had to tell her before she gave up on him forever.

“Aww,” Shelley cooed with an evil grin when she saw his realisation. “It’s okay, baby,” she soothed, stepping towards him again. Killian took a step back and was suddenly pressed against the wall. “She couldn’t love you like I do anyway,” Shelley whispered, pressing her hands to his chest. Killian looked over to his left, noticing the red, security button hidden between a mess of tangled tubes and an unplugged heart monitor. He quickly pushed against Shelley’s shoulder’s, making her stumble in her heels that clicked against the floor and he flattened his palm over the button, immediately calling for security just as the call to the police finally connected.

“Thank the gods,” Killian whispered to himself. “Hello, my name is Killian Jones. I have a restraining order out against a Shelley Madison and she is breaking the terms right now. Yes, I’d like her arrested. Now,” Killian said, staring over at Shelley’s shocked face as the woman on the other end of the phone busily tapped away at a computer, searching for the order. Killian told the woman on the telephone where he was and no sooner had he done so, two burly security guards burst into the cubicle with police static erupting from their shoulder bound radios, and arrested Shelley.

“You can’t quit our love!” Shelley crowed as one of the guards wrenched her hands behind her back and handcuffed her. Killian stepped aside as she was lead from the cubicle, his only thought of Emma. He had to find her.

\--

So far, Emma’s day had been eventful, but so far, there had been no Killian Jones to ruin it. A few runny noses with a side helping of sickness meant the city was heading for an outbreak. Emma had treated seven patients today with the same symptoms, two of which had been admitted after spontaneously fainting, and three of which felt like they could pass out and had been brought in by a concerned family member.

It wasn’t even a prejudice bug either because all of her patients ranged from a few months old to the elderly. There was so much coughing, patients heaving in their beds and gasping for much needed air after each convulsion, Emma had taken it upon herself to wear a mask. The thin, light blue cotton fabric wasn’t a surefire fail safe way of prevention, but it was as good of a prophylactic as anyone who worked in an ER would get.

And then there was Jenny, the delicately beautiful and sickeningly sweet nurse who had haunted Emma’s every thought. She often sat on her own, filling out paperwork, wishing she was writing out the time of death on Jenny’s death certificate. Even if she wasn’t qualified to actually do that, it still felt good to daydream. Apparently, when she returned from lunch, there had been some kind of commotion in the emergency room and Jenny had been carted off in steel bracelets.

A satisfied smile crept across Emma’s face, much like the one she had worn when she had been told about Jenny’s rather public exit from the hospital, and she sighed happily, holding onto the feeling she held in her heart. It was warm, almost heated from the depth of Hell itself, and she knew it was wrong to feel like it but she didn’t care. Emma had got her retribution on Jenny, or at least, someone watching over her had made sure she had.

Rounding the corner to her neighbourhood, Emma was met with the blinding deep orange of the sunset over the horizon. It still blazed in the sky, making her squint and instantly reach up for the sun visor of her classic bug. It slapped against the windshield and when Emma opened her eyes wider, she gripped at the steering wheel in half anger, half anticipation of what she saw standing in her parking space.

Killian looked worn and tired and he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and even that was just a guess. His jacket was dirty and his skin was almost the same colour as the ground he was standing on. As the car neared the space and she stopped it in the road, he quickly rushed to the side, motioning for her to roll the window down with a waving of his hand. Emma gulped, looking away from him quickly and gripping harder to the wheel. If she didn’t, she’d be tempted to push the door open and tend his wounds, righting his wrongs and mending his broken heart with all the forgiveness she could muster. Emma was trapped between two levels. On one she desperately wanted him to tell her he had never ever met Jenny and she wanted to believe him. On the other, her rationale told her that regardless of how broken he seemed right now, his suffering was worth it because of how he had made her feel.

Finally, she grabbed the outdated handle and began winding it backwards, the glass sliding against the rubber seals as it opened. She kept her eyes forward, not looking at him as he spoke her name like a whisper of relief. “Emma.”

Killian’s heart twisted in his chest and he had totally forgotten what he wanted to say at the mere sight of her. “Get out of my space, Killian,” Emma said, her voice tired and physically drained. Her shoulders slumped against the back of the seat, aching but itching for his touch.

“Emma, please listen to me,” Killian tried again, stepping closer to the car. The engine was still running, ticking over in the quiet street and it took all Emma had not to jerk forward and leave him standing in the void of her allocated parking space.

“Killian, please,” Emma stopped him, tilting her head back and audibly sighing into the car. Killian watched her closely and swallowed a lump in his throat. He wanted her to say she knew. He wanted her to tell him that she understood. If she didn’t it would be hard to explain and even harder to understand as an outsider. Finally, she turned her weary head towards his and peeled her eyes open to meet his. “Are you going to move or do I have to park down the street?”

Killian felt all the blood drain from his face at her cold, harsh words. They were not what he had been expecting and they took him by surprise. He blinked a few times, staring at her dumbly with his mouth agape and the wind tugging gently at his jacket. One side flapped open and Emma sighed, stepping on the rubbery pedal and accelerating past him toward the next space around the corner.

“Emma! Wait!” Killian’s eyes went wide and he bolted after her car, his boots pounding the asphalt as he chased after her car. The wind whipped at his face, prickling against his cheeks and turning them a rosy pink shade as he thudded to a halt in the middle of the road, unable to keep up with the pace of the bug. His arm hung loosely at his sides and he grabbed his sides, desperately needing oxygen in his muscles. He pinched his eyes closed and hunched over painfully, panting hard and his lungs burning from his sudden exertion. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of one of the neighbour's walls, so without further thought, he sprang for it, leaning against the gritty wall of the red brick building and waited.

Emma sat in her car for fifteen minutes, just to make sure he had gone. She could hear every second ticking down on her watch combined with the gentle sounds of her engine as the bug cooled down. As she sat in her car, she contemplated many things. She considered driving back to the hospital to find out why Jenny had been frogmarched out of the ER in handcuffs. She considered rushing out of the car and into Killian’s arms, telling him she didn’t care who he was because she was in love with him. And above all, she considered leaving Storybrooke and never returning.

Killian looked at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time in a minute and the illuminated hands gently ticked on by. Emma had gone around the corner over fifteen minutes ago and still, she had not returned. The sun had finally dwindled in the sky and the street lamp above Killian flickered to life. He tilted his face up towards it, listening to the hum of electricity surge through the stem of the lamp, igniting the fake daylight that basked his sorrowful face in a dim orange glow.

His intrigue was so engrossed in the inner working of the lamp that he nearly missed Emma as she walked past. Her head was held high, and her keys jingled in her hands as she fiddled for her front door key, the metallic objects clinking against each other and grabbing his attention. Killian looked over at her, double taking when he mistook her silky, yellow hair for a darker chestnut brown in the darkness. When she passed under the next streetlamp and it illuminated her tresses with the radiance of the sunrise, Killian stumbled over his feet to catch up.

“Emma!” he called, jogging to her and his breath leaving his mouth and instantly cooling into condensation in the air. “Emma, please wait,” He begged, quickening his pace when she did.

“No, Killian,” she said firmly, clinking her low heels harder on the ground as she strode determinedly for her front door. All she had to do was reach the gate. All she had to do was cross over the line between the real world and her childhood land of dreams and fantasies and she would be safe.

“Emma, I can explain. I can explain everything,” Killian tried again, quickly shooting a glance down at the ground as he walked, careful not to trip her up with his incessant pleading. He was walking awkwardly beside her, half in front of her, half to her side and he was holding out his chilled hands to her in a forgiving beg. “Please!” he said a little firmer, stepping in front of her and jogging back down the sidewalk.

Emma clutched her bag harder to her torso, the well sewn brown leather feeling sticky under her sweaty fingertips. She kept her focus on the ground before her, the flash of gum and stains that were stuck to the pavement passing her eyes as she strode forward. “Killian,” she tried again, not looking at him but letting out a growl of frustration when he began to slow down in front of her. She stopped dead, two houses from hers and her shoulders slumped back in their joints when she looked back up to him. “What?”

Taken back by her callous, snappy words, Killian stopped for a second. He kept his distance, at least a few feet from her and felt the heat generated from chasing her invade his skin under his shirt and pants. His cheeks prickled with heat and he panted, swallowing a lump down his constricted throat. “Something happened today,” he began softly. “Something you should know about.”

Emma bit her bottom lip and rolled her eyes sideways, catching the stare from an elderly neighbour who was watching them out of her window, curtains twitching sideways a few times. Emma let her eyes fall closed and she pinched the top of her nose between her thumb and finger, letting her breath leave her on an audible sigh. “What, Killian? Because I’ve had a really, really bad day. Week in fact. You-.” She pointed at him and dug her finger into his chest as she stepped forward. “I’ve had a bad week because of _you_.”

Killian took a step back and quickly looked behind him when his foot caught on a lump in the pavement, the thick, crumbly root from a nearby tree bursting up through the hardened ground. “I’m so sorry, love,” Killian said sincerely, reaching for her hand, her skin much warmer than his own. Emma pulled her hand from his, lifting her gaze to his once more. His eyes were the lightest shade of grey blue she had seen them in a long while and he reminded her of a nervous child when they had been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Sorry doesn’t take away how I feel, Killian,” Emma snapped, brushing past him and hurrying up her front steps, muttering as she did. “I’ve built these walls around me, for so long, and you come in and somehow tear them down, making me _feel_ for you!” Her shoes clicked against the ground and were finally dulled when she stepped into her house and slammed the door in his face.

“Emma!” Killian called, shooting a glance around the empty street before following her steps up to the front door. He turned sideways, falling against the old, creaking wood onto his shoulder and he let his head loll to the side and rest against the door. “Emma, please, listen to me,” Killian pleaded quietly, his breath condensing against the painted door as he spoke.

Emma swallowed hard, leaning back against the front door and covering her face with her hands. Her head fell backwards and she panted hard in long, angry breaths, trying to forget the fact that there was barely two inches of wood between them. Emma could swear she could feel Killian’s body heat radiating through the door and it made all of her hairs stand to attention. She hated how he made her feel. She hated her body’s reaction to him. Even just seeing him, her body surging with anger and adrenaline, had made her stomach do flips and she had fought to keep her tone of voice aggravated. No one had ever got through the wall before, into her heart, and made her feel so loved. She cleared her throat and kept her eyes closed. “I’m listening.”

Killian heard her words, barely a whisper through the door and felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you,” he said softly, his words barely audible to even him. He pressed his hand to the door beside his face, his fingertips splayed out against the wood as he watched them flex next to his features. Killian took a deep breath and rolled his forehead against the door. “Emma I know how you found out about Jenny. I want you to know, it didn’t happen how you were told,” Killian paused, waiting for her response.

The name on his lips was enough to make Emma fume on the opposite side of the door and she was thankful he couldn’t see her jaw clenching and her fists balling into tight, white rimmed shapes at her sides. There was a silent pause and then she heard him inhale to start talking some more. “Her name isn’t Jenny. It’s Shelley. Shelley Madison.” Killian’s voice was desperate and muffled through the wood.

For a second, Killian thought Emma might have walked off and left him talking to the peeling black paint layered over the front door. He couldn’t hear anything, not even her breathing or an imagined heartbeat through the barrier like he had before. He looked down to his feet, focusing idly on the potted plant that had long since dried in the sunshine sitting beside the doormat. He was about to call her name to confirm her presence when he heard the door latch click with a dull clatter and felt the door pull from the safety of the frame. Killian gulped hard and stood erect, searching her face when she stepped into view. “Go on,” Emma whispered, her tone lighter than before.

Killian let out the breath he had been holding and continued. “Two years ago, some guys at the office set me up on a blind date with a woman named Shelley,” he started, watching her face as she digested the information he was telling her. “We went on one date before I realised she wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to be with.”

“How did you tell her?” Emma rasped, her voice low and her brow furrowed as she interrupted him. She was searching for an excuse to still hate him, a reason to rebuild the barrier around her heart.

“I’m sorry?” Killian said with a shake of his head. Her question confused him for a second and he stared at her with his mouth open.

“ _How_ did you tell her you didn’t think you should see her again?” Emma repeated slower and more sarcastic than before.

Killian averted his gaze to the ground again and licked his lips nervously. He pinched his eyes closed and let his words leave his mouth quietly. “We exchanged numbers and I said I’d call her.”

“But you never did,” Emma interrupted him again, finishing his shameful admittance for him. Killian looked back up to her sheepishly and Emma let out a low laugh. “You’re a bastard, Killian,” Emma scoffed, stepping back into the house and pushing hard against the door.

“No! Wait,” Killian stepped into the door, wedging his foot in between the door and its frame. Emma slammed the door against his foot and Killian gritted his teeth when the pain he tried to tell himself it was worth shot up his leg. He knew Emma was worth it and she deserved the truth. “I was _going_ to call her,” Killian argued, feeling her release the door from his foot and then the rush of blood to the area as it began to bruise in his shoe. His hand came up and he gripped to the doorframe, supporting his weight and taking it off his foot subtly. “Work got in the way and then she called me.”

Emma studied his face and tilted her head to the side. “What did you say to her?” Emma asked quickly, folding her arms across her chest and letting the door swing open against her better judgement.

Killian looked up at her and shrugged. “I told her we were not right for each other. That she shouldn’t waste her time with me.”

“Why do I get the feeling there is more to this story?” Emma said with an exhausted sigh. Her voice was laced with agitation and tiredness. All she wanted was for Killian to get to the point in his story. Killian looked at her and straightened his posture but did not step into the house. “Get to the point, Killian.”

“Things got worse,” Killian said quickly. “She stalked me. Followed me to work, home from work, and wherever I went during the weekends. She’d call me day and night, declaring her love for me and telling me how we were meant to be together,” Killian’s declaration of truth was interrupted by Emma’s giggling and he watched her shake her head with a confused frown.

Emma caught him staring at her and brushed her hair from her brow with a quick sweep of her hand. She shook her head and sent her frayed, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Now you know how I feel, Killian,” Emma said, the sarcasm in her voice erupting into the hallway.

“Emma, it isn’t funny. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel in any way uncomfortable,” he said with pink in his cheeks. “I knew what you had been told was wrong, and you deserve to know the truth.” Killian finally stepped into the house and pushed the door closed behind him. “You can tell me to leave, and I’ll respect whatever your heart desires if that is truly what you want. I just wanted the chance to explain everything.”

Emma’s laughter faded away slowly and she looked up at him. He looked pathetic. Not even his well pressed suit could disguise the fact he had days of facial hair growing from his chin, spiky and radiating in all directions. His eyes were filled with a watery glint of something she couldn’t place and he really looked ready to give up. Emma sighed and twisted her mouth sideways, looking and staring blankly into her lounge. “You’re serious aren’t you?”

“Deadly. Emma, I am not that kind of man, I give you my word,” Killian said softly. “I had to get a restraining order, change my email, phone numbers, my car, my address. I had to leave everything. Even move the business across the state,” he sighed, running his hand over his brow that had begun to drip with tiny beads of sweat under the hot, hallway lighting above his head.

Emma was taken back. “A restraining order? Oh my God, Killian.”

“Now do you see? The nurse at the hospital, Jenny or something, that wasn’t her name,” he shook his head and his words left his mouth in a relieved breathy whisper. “Shelley had changed her name illegally, some fake documents the cops said, and got a job at the hospital for God only knows what reason. Emma, she still thinks we should be together and that conversation you overheard that day at the hospital? About me? That was part of her plan to get rid of you.”

Emma’s eyes went wide with shock and she suddenly felt violated. She narrowed her gaze and tilted her head. “She knew about us?”

“Emma, she knew everything,” Killian said, his voice cracking with a sudden fear.

“Where has she been for two years? Why hasn’t she surfaced before now?” Emma asked, confused.

Killian felt his body flush with a pink glow and he looked away from her, watching his feet shuffle on the carpet. “I haven’t exactly dated in two years. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault,” Killian growled to himself, scratching the patch of skin behind his ear, something Emma had noticed he did when nervous. “I should have realised. I should have noticed her at the hospital but, truth be told, all I saw was you.” Killian lifted his gaze to hers and blushed a little, swallowing hard.

“You were at the hospital today,” Emma said surely. It wasn’t a question because she knew he had been there. Even before she had heard about Jenny or Shelley, put two and two together just now, she had known. Killian was like a presence she could feel wherever she was. “That’s why Jenny was arrested.”

“Aye,” Killian nodded, his feet steadfast on the ground while his heart tugged at his brain to tell them to step towards her. “I went to get my stitches out. Guess who was my assigned nurse?” Killian said with numb sarcasm. “When I realised who she was and that she was breaking the terms of the order, I had her arrested.”

Emma let out a long sigh and felt her guard drop as her body relaxed. It made sense, and even if it did seem highly far fetched, something in Killian’s voice told her it was all true. Emma lifted her hand to her mouth and nibbled on her thumbnail, her entire brain rushing with thought. She could still hate Killian but to be honest, all she felt for him was sorrow. She had jumped to conclusions and led herself to believe that he was nothing more than another guy who would use her.

“What are you thinking?” Killian asked softly, resting his hand to her shoulder and shaking her from her thoughts. 

Emma jumped a little, her eyes darting to his hand on her shoulder, searing her flesh through the coat she was still wearing and then to his eyes. She didn’t know why she had chosen that exact moment to make a joke, but unable to shake the thought from her brain, she let it slip from her lips with a smile.

“You hadn’t had sex in two years?” She laughed, arching an eyebrow at him. “And you broke your celibacy with me?” She took his hand from her shoulder, watching as her own fingers traced the ridges of his knuckles.

Killian relaxed and laughed with her as he shook his head. “Emma, you did something to me that day I met you. Something I have never felt before but something I’m pretty sure I want to feel for the rest of my life.” As his laughter subsided, Killian twisted their hands until he was caressing hers this time. “If you’d let me, I’d like to take you to lunch. I’d like to start again and forget about this whole Jenny thing, alright?”

“Like a date?” Emma felt her heart flutter again, a feeling she had missed since he had been gone, and she stared at him with a smile. She let her eyes fall closed and she nodded softly. “Okay,” she agreed lightly. “Tomorrow, you can take me to lunch.”

Killian lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. The soft, wispy beard on his jaw scratched at her hand but Emma did not notice. “Lunch, tomorrow,” he repeated, kissing her skin, letting his lips linger on her knuckles longer than he had intended. “Thank you, Emma.”

“Wear something sexy,” Emma teased, letting her hand slip from his as he walked back towards the door, a relieved sigh leaving his mouth on a laugh.


	9. Chapter 9

“Fifteen minutes,” Mary Margaret clarified in an almost silent whisper, her face scrunched up slightly as she peered through the smallest crack between the polished wooden frame and the door of David’s office. She was kneeling on the floor, her body quivering as she fought to keep her silent balance against the frame. Her knees formed concave hollows in the plush office flooring and she tried to ignore the itching caused by the carpet against her skin.

“Fifteen minutes?” David whispered back, pulling his gaze from the sight before him and looking down at Mary Margaret with a puzzled frown. “Are you sure?” He stood behind her, his full muscular arms bracing his entire body weight against the door frame as he was greeted with her nod. They both stared at each other surprised, and then as if in a choreographed move, resumed their peering through the door at the same time.

They were staring at Killian. He was sitting in David’s leather chair with his arms folded loosely across his chest, the action causing creases to form in the elbows of his suit. He had slipped down in the chair a little, his knees holding his body in the chair as they pressed against David’s hardwood desk uncomfortably. The room was silent and the gentle rise and fall of Killian’s chest was joined with a soft grunting sound that rumbled from his throat. His eyes were lightly shut and his messy haired head was rolled to one side, his lips caressing the woven material on his shoulder as he dreamed.

David chuckled a little, quickly stifling his giggles with a bear like palm over his mouth. Mary Margaret sprung to her feet in fright, jumping back and inhaling hard as she frowned at David and pressed her hand to her quickening heart. “I’m sorry,” David trailed off lightly as he felt the next eruption of laughter. “He’s asleep,” he announced excitedly as if his receptionist had not seen for herself. Mary Margaret opened her mouth to speak but David cut her off, his laughter faded and his curiosity had him eagerly pressed to the door once again. “He never sleeps. He’s a machine. Something’s wrong,” he said quickly between breaths, spinning to look at the silent Mary Margaret once again.

“There is always something wrong,” she began, her hand slipping from her chest and resting on her hip with a roll of her eyes. David ignored her words and narrowed his gaze at Killian’s slumbering figure once again.

“He hasn’t shaved,” he noted, his tongue casually parting his lips and moistening them as he thought. “He always shaves,” he thought out loud, his words leaving his mouth on a warm breath that left a dew condensation on the doorframe. 

“Maybe he’s out of razors?” Mary Margaret offered with a shrug but the look David gave her confirmed exactly what she thought as soon as she had said it. Her words were ridiculous. Of course, Killian hadn’t run out of razors. The man probably had a years supply in storage, just in case. 

David suddenly gasped and Mary Margaret jumped back another foot, her eyes widening with fear as David spun to face her like an enraged bull. “He wore that suit yesterday!” he declared in a hushed tone, pointing over his wide shoulders with his thumb. His face was frightening and his pupils had grown small because of how wide they were open.

Mary Margaret’s hand flew up to cover her own gasping mouth in shock. Even she knew how obsessively Killian kept a quota of suits so as not to wear the same one two days in a row. David’s silent and knowing nod told her he was thinking the same thing. “Oh my,” she whispered to him with a nod of agreement. “Something _is_ wrong.”

The morning sunlight shone through the huge, lightly tinted glass windows of David’s office and danced across the room, warming the space they covered with silent heat. The rays never moved, but the fine particles of dust that jumped and flickered in the daylight made it seem so. David pushed his door open tentatively, the hinges keeping silent and the carpeted floor disguising the action as it absorbed the rubbing noise like a sponge. David’s head entered first, bobbing around the corner like an investigative dog and was soon followed by his body.

David’s footsteps felt awkward on the floor as he tried to keep his balance while tiptoeing into his office. His arms flailed through the air but he did not make a sound and his body was so rigid with trying to stay still and quiet that his muscles ached. Killian continued to snooze as his colleague approached inhaling hard and expelling a long breathy sigh in his sleep. The morning sun had begun to move around the office, leaving its warmth across every surface it touched, and was gently heating the side of Killian’s face.

Killian twitched a few times, his face gently contorting into a grimace. David froze dead in his tracks, his breathing almost non-existent as Killian’s hand flew up and absently tried to scratch away the sunlight from his prickly cheek. David’s eyes went wide, the whites clearly visible when he turned and displayed his panicked face to Mary Margaret. She held up her hands that had begun to sweat and held her breath as Killian’s hand flopped back down into position.

David had just turned back around, carefully avoiding the edge of his desk when Killian spoke. “I know you’re there, Dave,” he grumbled into the fabric of his crumpled shirt. His eyes did not open and his words were damaged and slurred from his exhaustion.

David straightened up with a slight frown and cleared his throat into a balled fist. “Just getting some paperwork,” he lied, searching his desk top with eager eyes for a folder, a piece of paper, anything to confirm his pretence.

Killian peeled open an eye slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the warming orange glow of the room. Everything had been illuminated by the sun by now, and it turned everything as bright as Emma’s hair. Everything reminded him of her, and even though she had agreed to lunch, he couldn’t keep himself occupied enough to forget in the meantime. Killian hadn’t slept in the last five days, and his body felt heavy and argued against his awakening.

“Okay so I’m not getting some paperwork,” David admitted as he lifted his leg slightly to perch on the edge of his desk. “You were asleep,” he said, still surprised.

“Aye, I do that occasionally,” Killian grunted, his words stretched to a higher pitch as he sat upright in David’s chair, the leather material creaking under his movement. He yawned, his eyes pinching closed on his face and his jaw separating so wide he felt like it was going to break off. His arms reached out in front of him and a light shiver rippled down his spine as his stretch ended. “I haven’t exactly been sleeping well lately,” Killian admitted suddenly, casting his eyes downwards and taking in his appalling appearance.

Killian looked like shit. His silvery grey suit was creased and patched with stains. Some looked like coffee and were darker in the middle with a lighter radiating edge that resembled the edge of the ocean on a map. Others were powdery like dirt and were easily brushed off with a large sweep of Killian’s grubby hands. His shirt was crumpled beyond help and dust from the Storybrooke city streets had imprinted itself on the fair fabric. He knew he was a mess but he didn’t care. All that had crossed his mind over the last week was Emma, over and over, in reality, and in his dreams.

“Uh oh,” David said casually, tilting his head at Killian’s words. Killian’s head snapped up towards his partner’s and he took in the concerned look on his face.

“Uh oh?” Killian repeated his words as he used the same hand he had brushed his suit down with to rub the back of his aching neck. “Why uh oh?”

“Because you need sleep,” David pointed an accusing finger at Killian as he spoke. “Because this firm depends on you getting sleep,” he continued, his voice a little louder than before. “Because,” he paused and narrowed his eyes at Killian.

Killian suddenly felt uncomfortable and his cheeks prickled with a pink glow. “What?” He questioned timidly, patting his hands to his chest and inspecting his pants for anything that could have caused David’s sudden cessation of words.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” David asked calmly. His voice was a mixture of concern and intrigue that made Killian feel a little uncomfortable.

Killian sighed and scratched his blackened nails over his lengthening beard growth. The hair was short and bristly and it made a rustling sound as he clawed over it. “Woman trouble,” he said simply, his words but an echo in the office around him. David’s frame softened and he tilted his head sideways, taking in Killian’s broken exterior more closely.

“Killian,” he warned gently, calling his friend’s name until he saw the darkened greyness of his eyes. They were darker than usual, the hues of them shadowed by Killian’s complete anguish, and puffy purple circles had begun to appear under his eyes. “This isn’t another Shelley is it?” David tentatively asked with a sorrowful sigh. He feared for his friend, again, because every time he seemed to date, things always went wrong. “We can’t move the business again,” David finished solemnly.

“No,” Killian interrupted quickly with a shake of his head. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips before he spoke some more, a penalty of not having been hydrated enough this week. “This is not a Shelley thing.”

“Well good.” David smiled nervously at Killian, waiting for his friend to mirror his action. Killian didn’t smile but instead just looked at David like a scorned puppy. He was emotionally drained, any fool could see that, and David didn’t know what to do. Killian had lost his drive, his passion, and his eagerness to work and that meant only one thing; his drive, passion and eagerness had been directed at another source. A woman. Killian yawned again, tearing his eyes from David briefly as he did so and covering his mouth with his tainted hand. “Is she worth it?” David asked out of the blue, fiddling with his own fingers on his lap.

Killian didn’t even hesitate as he shrugged off his yawn and answered. “She is,” Killian said with a quivering smile. His eyes fell closed and he saw Emma’s smile imprinted on his eyelids, her tempting locks bouncing on her shoulders and her eyes glinting with happiness. Killian gulped back tears and opened his eyes to meet David’s once again. “She is worth everything.”

“Then go get her!” David sprang to his feet and tore off his suit jacket, crushing the expensive silky material between his fingers before he watched it fall with a dull thud atop his desk. “If she loves you as much as you obviously love her,” David began, motioning up and down Killian’s tattered frame with a flat open palm, “then you have nothing to be scared of.” He smiled, leaning back against his desk and folding his arms over his chest.

Before Killian could respond, the inside pocket of his jacket began to vibrate when his cell phone began to ring. He scrambled for his jacket, pulling it aside clumsily and reaching into his pocket. The pocket was lined with purple silky material that soothed his skin as he stroked his knuckles against it, and the phone jiggled in his palm, vibrating violently with an audible buzz as he pulled it free. “It’s her,” Killian stuttered with a broken voice as he stared at the illumination of the caller ID.

David smiled weakly. “I’ll be outside.” He nodded with a wink and pushed his bulk from the edge of the desk and hurried from the room. Killian gulped hard and took a large, steadying breath before answering the call. 

“Emma,” he said softly, her name meaning everything before he had even pressed the device to his ear.

“Killian?” Emma said quickly, a little confused by Killian’s changed voice. It was deeper, more rugged than she remembered it sounding yesterday. “Did I wake you?” She enquired politely, her own voice a tad raspy.

Killian shook his head and spun on his heel to begin pacing the office. “No, not at all. Are you alright?” Killian caught sight of David’s diplomas hanging on the wall behind his desk and quickly busied himself with straightening a crooked brass frame.

“Not really,” Emma began apologetically. “I’ve called in sick at work today. I think I caught a bug that’s going around the hospital,” she said, swallowing the urge to vomit once more. She was in her bathroom and her voice bounced off of the walls in the whitened room. “Can we reschedule lunch?”

Killian’s heart sunk lower in his chest and the hair on his neck stood on end. He flushed hot with a combination of nerves and defeat. “Oh,” was all he could manage on a tone overshadowed with hurt. “Are you alright, love?” Killian repeated his earlier question slowly and softly, concern lacing his words.

Emma shrugged to herself in her empty bathroom and a thin smile crept across her lips slowly. “Nothing some chicken soup can’t cure,” she smiled. “I’m sorry, Killian,” she said quickly, suddenly needing to expel the content of her stomach once again. “I’ve got to go,” Emma hurried, clenching her hand around her throat as the vomit crawled its way up from her stomach. “I’m sorry,” she repeated quickly and hung up.

The line had gone dead long before Killian pulled the cold, square-shaped cell from his ear. He gulped a hefty lump down his throat and stared at the phone in his hand. Killian’s heart hurt, and it still pounded a little in his chest, making his palms sweaty with anxiety, his hands clenched around the cell phone as he tapped its hardness against the light fuzz on his upper lip, staring intently at the carpet before him in thought.

Killian’s attention was diverted with an echoing knock on the office door. Killian looked up, his gaze blurring slightly as he did so, and caught sight of David’s inquisitive face poking around the door. He was funny, almost comical. The way he stood made him look like he had no body and his head was held up by a single arm, gripping for dear life to the roughly sawn door edge. “You need anything?” he asked gently, unsure as to how Killian’s conversation had gone. Killian was a hard man to read, and even harder to read when he was exhausted.

Killian’s lips crept into a twitching smile as he paced towards the door, causing David to jolt upright and pull the door open to let Killian past. “The rest of the day off,” he began.

David huffed and a small chuckle escaped his lips. “You weren’t exactly working in there, Killian,” David joked, winking at Mary Margaret whose rosy red lipstick smile widened with glee. He was just about to continue when Killian, who hadn’t heard a word he had said, interrupted in unison with the ding of the elevator.

“And some chicken soup.”

\--

Emma felt like her stomach was trying to crawl its way out of her body through her mouth. Muscles she didn’t even know she had were aching. They hurt to touch, it hurt to breathe and no matter how hard Emma tried, she couldn’t shift the feeling of nausea. The thick, padded comforter on her bed covered her with eagerness, clinging to her tiny, clammy frame and desperately trying to warm her body, but she still shivered underneath it. Her jaw hung open slightly and her teeth chattered against each other which left her aching even more. She sighed with a breathy agitation, clutching the duvet even harder.

The room was light, too light, and Emma’s head hurt. It pounded audibly in her ears and tiny bursts of white light popped up behind her eyelids on every thump. Squinting didn’t help, neither did the agonising turn Emma made in her bed to try and face away from the taunting daylight. She let out a groan as she turned, the mere effort of which left her more exhausted. “Stupid hospital,” Emma cursed under her rancid smelling breath as she settled into a colder space on her soft, linen sheets. “Stupid bug,” she grumbled.

Her rant was interrupted by the chirp of the doorbell, high pitched and whistling its way through the silent house. Emma’s groan grew louder when the hollow knocking on the door followed. Her eyes argued as she tried to open them, staying open for just a second before pinching themselves tightly closed again. “Go away,” she whispered, balling the blanket in her fist and pulling it up to her chin as if hiding from the door would make whoever was on the other side go away.

The doorbell rang out again, screeching as the sound tore through Emma’s headache, making it pound harder behind her eyes. Emma heard a squeak as she clenched her jaw tightly, her anger for the persistent doorbell ringer finally causing her teeth to touch and rub against each other. She sighed, her breath smelling of vomit and the peppermint from her toothpaste as it breezed under her nostrils. Emma grimaced and finally peeled her eyes open, released the hold on her comforter and threw it off herself.

Her room wasn’t cold but to Emma the rush of air that hit her fully clothed body was arctic. Her loose-fitting red, cotton pyjama pants were gripped to her painful stomach muscles while the legs fell to cover her exposed flesh when she swung her heavy legs over the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked a little as she sat there, depressing the edge with her weight and waiting for her head to stop spinning. The doorbell chimed out again and Emma wished she hadn’t replaced the batteries her mother had let die so long ago. She swallowed back the urge to vomit now that she was upright, and pushed herself up, tussling her messy hair between her fingers but not really caring who was going to see her.

Killian’s feet tapped impatiently on the broken top step on which he stood. The hot take out chicken soup he held between his fingers warmed their tips, gently caressing and tingling through the white, Styrofoam cup. Steam would have been swirling into the air had it not been for the push on lid that had kept the heat in throughout his journey to Emma’s.

He had pressed his finger onto the cream coloured doorbell button three times now. Killian knew Emma was home. He could feel her radiate through every brick of the house. It was a good house, strong and stable and it felt safe. Emma had grown up here with her brother and her parents, and even through her darkest times, this was a sanctuary for her, and Killian respected the old red bricks. If he could ever make Emma feel as safe as they had, he would be halfway to happy. This wasn’t just a house, it was a home.

“Who is it?” Emma croaked.

Killian heard the weak, broken voice from the other side of the door and his heart skipped a beat. He burst into a smile, his lips spreading wide across his face as he took a small step closer to the peeling black painted door.

“It’s Killian,” he admitted with a hopeful tone but there was no answer. The smell of chicken soup wafted up into his senses, a smell he hated but a smell he would tolerate for Emma. Her silence worried him and his eyebrows pulled together in a small frown. “Emma?” He called gently, his breath laying on the black paint in tiny droplets. He stared down at the ground, straining his ears to hear her on the other side of the door. He could have heard her heartbeat in a thunderstorm, but his concentration was broken when the latch clicked open and a pale, sickly looking Emma appeared around the frame.

Emma’s eyes met Killian’s and they reflected their exhaustion at each other. Killian’s smile slid from his face and concern crept into his features at the sight of her, hair poofy and knotted and her oversized pyjama top looked like it was trying to devour her. Its red colour emphasized the paleness of Emma’s skin, who looked whiter than the hair framing her face. “Chicken soup,” Emma smiled weakly, lifting a heavy arm to point at the cup in Killian’s hand. His gaze followed hers and dropped to his hand that clenched the chicken soup deftly.

“I bought you lunch,” Killian attempted lightly, a quick one-sided shrug accompanying his nervous smirk. He had changed, his crumpled shirt long gone and now replaced for a casual henley and jeans. His prickly growth had been combed and his cheeks shaved, his smooth, blemish-free skin begging to be touched by her much softer hands. 

Emma smiled a little. “Who knew Killian Jones did casual?” 

“You said to wear something sexy,” he mused. His eyes lifted once more, and Emma’s emerald stare had been transformed into a darker, murkier colour. She attempted a laugh and dragged her heavy frame backwards to let Killian in. “You don’t look so good,” he offered honestly, stepping forward as Emma stepped back and into the hall. 

Emma let out a slight chuckle as she pushed the door with no energy and it bounced open again. Killian caught it and pushed it closed with ease, turning back to Emma. Emma had her arms crossed over her chest trying to keep warm and she inhaled deeply. The muscles across her ribcage stretched painfully and she tried to hide her wince. “I’m okay,” she lied, her fingertip touching the light, dewy sweat that was collecting on her forehead as she brushed her messy locks aside.

Killian set the chicken soup down on the table Emma had just inside her front door being vigilant to make sure the hot cup didn’t touch the actual surface. And old envelope scribbled on and dog eared made a perfect coaster. “Are you sure?” Killian pushed gently, taking a step towards her and brushing the salty beads from her brow with his thumb. “You’re sweating, love,” he thought aloud as he cupped her face in his cool palm.

“Mmm,” she hummed incoherently, nudging her face into his palm. Emma found herself needing his touch. The cold temperature of his skin made her head feel better and soothed the thumping in her temples. Just to be touched made her feel better on the inside, but she couldn’t hide how much she felt like she was dying on the outside. She felt ridiculous. Doctors were not supposed to get ill, that’s why they were doctors. They stopped this from happening to people, or if they couldn’t, they helped fix it. 

“And you’re burning up,” Killian noticed, his brow slipping into a concerned frown. He shifted his hand to rest the back of his knuckles against Emma’s damp brow, her skin burning his as the fever wracked her body.

Emma’s eyes blinked quickly and she couldn’t keep them open. Flashes of green met blue in a blurred mixture of hues as she tried to focus on Killian. The room seems to spin, whirling in front of her every time her eyes fluttered open. Emma swallowed hard, trying to gain her composure. “Emma?” Killian prodded gently, his voice etched with worry as his powerful hands gripped her shoulders to stop her swaying. 

“I’m fine,” Emma whispered, her words barely audible as blackness took her over and she slipped from Killian’s grasp to the floor.

\--

Killian's arms burned. Emma was a dead weight, limp and lifeless in his grip as he stepped into the ER. The etched glass doors slid open slowly, causing him to curse under his breath and bob impatiently on the balls of his feet. “Come on,” he seethed as they parted before him and the sounds of the ER poured out into the ambulance bay. Emma's car, engine still ticking over with a slight misfire, sat abandoned with the doors ajar in the drop off area.

“Help me,” Killian called around the almost empty emergency department. His face was pale but flushed with worry and he had lost all of his capacity to think. “Help me!” Emma's body was a solid weight, floppy in his arms and he desperately clung to her as he came to a halt in the lobby. 

A small shift nurse looked up from the desk, instantly hanging up the phone she was on and screaming for help. She was only just able to peer over the tall counter, her blonde hair pulled back loosely into a messy ponytail. She was wearing a lightweight cardigan to keep out the chill of the Storybrooke air as people entered and exited the ER, but as she rounded the desk to run at Killian, she pulled the sleeves up her arms hastily. A tall male doctor that Killian did not recognize rushed towards him dragging a heavy freshly prepared bed, the wheel letting out a squeak as he did. He skidded the thick mattresses topped bed sideways and pulled his whole weight against it to stop it from crashing into Killian. 

Killian's vision slowed and he went deaf, the noise from the ER fading away. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat, rushed and pulsing in his ears, and his breathing was ragged with the exertion of his adrenaline fuelled heroics. The voices around them were a blur and all Killian could focus on was the unconscious woman in his arms.

“It's okay, we got her now,” the tiny nurse soothed as she and the burly doctor helped lift Emma from his arms onto the bed. Killian's arms hurt, but it was a hurt he didn't even notice, the release of pressure on his muscles causing them to sear with heat. Emma's body hit the cold, white sheet laden mattress with a thud and her head flopped sideways, her ashen skin deathly pale and sticky with sweat, and a tiny tendril of her golden locks stuck to her forehead, the only colour on her entire face. Killian's hand twitched, wanting so desperately to tuck it from her face, but he was pushed out of the way before he had the chance. No sooner had she left his arms, Emma was being wheeled through the ER, the ceiling lights glaring in flashes of white across her unmoving features.

“She was just standing there,” Killian stammered shaking his head at the words, unable to believe that one second Emma was talking and the next she was a heap on the floor. His shoes slipped slightly as he tried to keep up with the medical team, grabbing the shiny handrail of the trolley as if it was his lifeline to Emma. Killian hadn't seen them appear, but a plethora of nurses and staff in varying shades of scrubs had appeared out of nowhere and suddenly surrounded Emma when the trolley halted. Killian stopped himself at the edge of the area, a clearly marked red line taped to the floor around the cubicle. Just to make sure he didn't cross the line, a short, middle-aged security guard laid a warning palm to Killian's chest and held him back with a push.

“What's her name?” One of the new doctors called out without taking his eyes off of Emma laid out before him. The lights in the cubicle made her look whiter than she was and Killian pressed a shaky palm to his face as he watched helplessly. He was frozen, his ears burning and his heart threatening to burst from his chest, the image of Emma upright and then hitting the cold floor of her hallway with a deafening thud flashing before his eyes each time he blinked. “Sir, her name?” The doctor prompted again.

“Emma,” Killian finally whimpered, his voice shaky and full of panic. The guard's fingers dug into his chest through his slightly damp shirt as Killian pushed against him. “Her name is Emma.” He wanted to be closer to Emma, to hold her hand and tell her it was going to be okay and that he was here. Killian wanted to touch her, however lightly, just so she knew he hadn't abandoned her. He wasn't the man she had thought he was and he still felt like he had to prove it.

“Emma? Emma, can you hear me?” The doctor called louder than needed into Emma's ear, her body remaining unresponsive. Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably and rubbed his hands over his softly furred chin. His mind was racing, thoughts tearing through his conscious like a bull after a red flag.

The dull green tiled floor squeaked under his shoes as he spun away from the scene, a small, burning lump appearing in his throat. Killian's eyes scorched with the threat of tears and he panted into his shaking hands, pressed together over his face in an attempt to hide the salty dew drops. His heart ached like someone had shot it with a poisoned arrow and he might never recover. He had never felt anything like what he felt for Emma. It was euphoric, addictive and he had almost lost it once already in the short time they had known each other, so he wasn’t about to give up on her again. Killian turned around slowly and assured the guard he would stay put with a reassuring glance and a small nod. The grey-haired man nodded back sadly, a silent understanding of how Killian felt.

“What happened?” Another doctor breezed past Killian, not caring that he bumped him back to reality. He was busy whipping the stethoscope from his neck when his eyes fell upon Emma. “Emma?” Dr Whale asked shocked, the sight before him making him stop in his tracks.

Killian narrowed his eyes at the new doctor, unable to see his face. His blood felt like it was thickening in his veins, a reaction from his jealousy and adrenaline. Killian's teeth ground together as he clenched his jaw and balled his hands into tight, white-hot fists. The already present prickle of his skin tightened his rage further and his brow knitted into a frown.

“How do you know the patient?” A doctor quickly asked the newcomer, clear superiority in his voice. The doctor's eyes never left Emma as he rubbed a tightly clenched fist against her chest in an attempt to wake her. Killian shot the new doctor a glance and held his breath, eager for his reply. His eyes followed their conversation, jumping between the two men as they tried to figure out the who, what, when, where and why.

“Emma works here.” Dr Whale blinked in disbelief. “We work together.” His voice was informative and suddenly businesslike, but Killian could also tell from his pitch and tone that he was not a threat to him. The name, Whale, rang a huge, solid brass bell chime in Killian's head, and for the first time in this whole episode, he remembered him. Emma called him _‘only a bit gay’_ and with understated revelation, Killian's body relaxed as much as it could.

“Okay, let's get a full blood count.” The doctor nodded to a nurse who was busy filling two gloves with hands. “And you are?” The doctor shouted to Killian, his own voice volume clearly muffled by the fact he had shoved the earbuds of his stethoscope into his ears. He had a small pair of rimless glasses perched towards the end of his long, pointy nose and he was peering over the top of them towards Killian.

“I, uh,” Killian stuttered. Who was he? What was he? Was he a friend? A boyfriend? If there was any colour left, it drained from his face. “Is she going to be okay?” he managed, rubbing his clammy hands over his face once more. Killian didn't know what to say, he didn't know who he was, and the last thing he wanted was to let Emma wake up surrounded by her gossiping colleagues because he had outed them. It wasn't his place to tell people she worked with about them.

The doctor ignored Killian's question and motioned the security guard to move him out of the area with a flick of his head. “Come on, buddy,” the tubby man offered, pulling on Killian's arm gently. “I'll show you where you can wait, okay?” Killian nodded, his breath hitching in his throat when the man's fatherly hand laid to rest on his shoulder. He guided Killian away, his eyes blurry and stinging with tears, imprinting the image of Emma's clothes being cut from her delicate frame on his mind.

The sound of machines beeping and ripping fabric became faded as Killian was slowly led down the hall. He didn't know if the world was moving slower, hazily flashing past his eyes with each blink, or if he was. He gulped a hard lump down his dry throat trying to shut out the noises and the scenarios they produced in his very energetic mind.

Killian felt numb when he sat in the waiting area. The chair he sat in was aged, tired and worn from the many bodies who had sat there previously. The vinyl seat had sunk in the middle and was no longer the same shade of marbled blue as the backrest, and the wooden varnished arms had been rubbed a lighter shade of amber. Killian's hands shook as he gripped at the lifeless wooden arms, feeling the worn, smoother patches under his fingertips.

There was almost no one in the waiting area except for a few pacing patrons and a small boy curled up asleep, his head resting on a man's lap. The man, he assumed his father, was also asleep, his head perched precariously against his bloodied hand and threatening to fall at any time. Killian wondered how they had come to be in the same place, but the man's tattered shirt, full of crinkles and dyed brown with dried blood told him all he needed to know. The man did not look hurt and Killian suspected that the smear of blood across his cheek was not from any wounds he had himself, and his hand draped across the small boy's body protectively told him he would do anything to protect the ones he loved.

Killian breathed a sigh, half sorrow and half frustration. He felt helpless, relegated to the waiting room because he couldn't decide what he was to Emma. A quicker thinker would have given the doctors any information in order to stay at her side. Boyfriend would have been enough. The one word was all he would have had to have said. For a genius, Killian Jones was an idiot, and as he sat alone, lit dimly by a flickering fluorescent bulb above him, he realised how Emma made him feel. Loved. Killian slumped back into the chair, banged his head against the off white wall behind him and pinched his eyes closed, letting a single tear roll down his cheek.

\--

There was no clock in the waiting area and Killian suspected it was so people didn't actually know how long they had been waiting. He pushed the cuff of his shirt over his bulky watch with a shivering finger and sighed when the numbers flashed back at him. The long, digital letters read 13:45 and meant Killian had been waiting for three hours. Three long, agonizing hours in which he hadn't seen Emma or heard anything about her. 

It was killing him.

With a small grunt, Killian heaved himself up and out of the chair he had become moulded to. His arms still ached from carrying Emma but he didn't mind, instead only saddened by the reminder of her petite frame lifeless in his arms. His eyes were reddened, mostly from his attempts to hide his grief from the people around him. Killian was a private person, normally, tightly wound and reclusive. He would normally throw everything into his work, meticulously executing every job with the precision it deserved, and he kept himself private. Despite what had happened since he met Emma, he was his own company. Sure, he was friends with David Nolan, but if you had asked him, Killian couldn't even tell you if David had a girlfriend or liked chocolate. David respected Killian enough to give him the privacy he wanted, when and where he wanted it. David was his friend because he didn't ask to be.

Killian heaved a sigh, his breath leaving his lungs with a force as he pulled his arms together in front of his ruffled shirt and stretched. Killian was sure he felt a pop in his shoulder but he ignored it. He probably deserved a little pain after what he had put Emma through and with a sad frown, he knitted his eyebrows together in a wide-mouthed yawn.

“Killian?” The small, manly whisper shook him from his reverie and Killian's eyes locked with the man behind him. He took in the man's features, his curly bleach blonde hair pushed from his face so often the hair had begun to train itself backwards and noted his freshly shaved face. He was wearing the tightest jeans Killian had ever seen another man wear and he clearly looked after his appearance. The slightest whiff of aftershave mixed with sweat filled the air between them and he extended a hand out to Killian. “Victor Whale,” he offered his name professionally.

Killian took Whale's huge hand in his and they gripped each other's flesh like a vice. Whale's hands were cold, uncharacteristic for a doctor, but he didn't even notice through his worry. “Killian Jones,” he replied weakly. “How is Emma?” Killian urged impatiently, his voice ravaged by his agony and not that eager to make small talk.

Whale offered a small smile and shot a look over his shoulder. Turning to face Killian once again, he cocked his head sideways toward the massive exit doors close by. “Walk with me,” he coaxed softly.

Killian fell into step behind Whale, following him across the waiting area. Annoyingly, Killian noticed a dark green tile on the floor out of the pattern and cursed his brain for noticing the mundane things at such a time. Whale headed out the ER doors, the cold, grey Storybrooke weather outside a reflection of Killian's feelings. This morning he had been full of hope and he was giddy with happiness when the sun had been shining. Now the sun had gone, replaced by the anguish of grey clouds threatening to burst their seams and rain on the two men at any second. A siren sounded in the distance, and Killian pushed his hands into his pockets to keep them warm after looking up at the menacing rain clouds with a raised eyebrow.

“I had one of our security guards move Emma's car,” Whale pointed absently at the space where Killian had hastily left her car. He had been foolish, leaving it running and doors wide open in such a public place, but he was thankful that Whale had the foresight to fix his mistake. Whale's arm swung left and Killian followed the point of his finger. “He parked it in her space around back.”

Killian couldn't see the car, but he assumed that was because the parking spaces were not easily accessible to the public. For a second he wondered where her keys were but thought better than to ask. Whale took a packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket, the half-empty square box crumbled and worn from its constant removal. He pulled one free of its silver foil lining and extended it to Killian as a stiff wind whipped at his dangling sleeve. Killian shook his head in rejection and Whale shrugged, moving the packet to his lips and yanking the white stick free with his mouth.

“How is Emma?” Killian prodded again, his patience quietly thinning in the ghastly afternoon chill. Whale flicked his lighter, a small flame dancing into view which he shielded from the wind with a huge, cupped paw. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled hard, the wind sucking the poisonous smoke from his mouth where it floated away.

“I can't tell you,” Whale admitted sadly, taking another drag. The end of his cigarette glowed, offering the only warmth Storybrooke currently had to offer. Killian's jaw clenched and he frowned. He gulped down a lump of distaste for the man before him. “You’re not family,” Whale stated matter of factly and he was right, but it didn't stop the words stabbing at Killian's heart any less.

“Then why bring me out here?” Killian shot a look back through the doors as they slid open and let a gaggle of nurses spill out. They clutched their coats around them and their hair whipped around in the wind trap the ER ambulance bay had become. One let out a small shriek when the hood of her coat was flipped forward, hitting her in the back of the head. Whale watched him, following his gaze back into the waiting area.

“No one is coming to tell you how she is doing, Killian.” Whale confirmed Killian's fears. The ER continued to turn its busy, well-worn cogs as if he didn't matter, and a silence fell between the two men, Killian scowling with the realisation that Whale was right. “Her mother died you know, that's why she is here,” Whale stated protectively, taking a final suck of his cigarette before throwing the stubby foam end to the ground and extinguishing its life with a stamp of his smartly polished shoes.

“Of course I know,” Killian snapped. Killian had known very little about how Emma had come to be back in Storybrooke, but he had known this. David and Emma's mother was more dear to him than his own absent parents and Killian was forever haunted by the fact he did not attend her funeral. As circumstances dictated, one of them had to have been present at a new client's mixer, dressed in their best crisp suit to impress. The other had to be dressed exactly the same for an entirely heart-wrenching reason and as much as he probably wanted to take David’s place, Killian could not go.

Whale licked his lips nervously and took in Killian some more. “I remember when you came into the ER that day,” he said accusingly, and the reason for all of his cryptic, sly comments became glaringly obvious to Killian.

“I'm not that kind of man,” Killian growled low, his voice rumbling in his chest a little more aggressively than he had intended. He balled his hands into fists in his pockets and scuffed his shoes through a shallow puddle before him, kicking away his reflection with a splash.

“And what kind of man are you, Killian?” Whale quirked his head sideways as he asked, his blonde mop bouncing atop his head. “Why are you here?”

Killian felt his blood coursing through his entire body, heating him in the damp, cold weather. On one level he understood that Whale was Emma's friend, possibly her only one in the vastness of the city she once was so familiar with, and he was just looking out for her. She had been through so much in her short life, having lost both her parents and throwing herself into her work as a modern day martyr. Killian wasn't surprised to find that someone so selfless as Emma would have such a great friend in such a short time.

“I love her,” Killian rasped, the words catching in his throat and taking him by surprise. 

Whale studied the man before him and saw a broken shell of a man. He knew it was true, he saw it every day when a grieving husband was told the devastating news about a deceased wife, or how parents crumbled on hearing their child had been born without an ounce of breath in their lungs. Whale watched Killian's face flush pink and a small tear roll down his cheek as he lifted his head to meet his gaze. 

“I can't stop loving her,” Killian whispered softly, his words a cloud of condensation against the chilled air.

“I can tell you this,” Whale paused, his voice softer and kinder than before. Killian waited for his words, a chill creeping up his spine. “Theoretically,” Whale begun, folding his arms over his chest and tucking his hands into the warmth of his armpits. “She would be taken to x-ray for imaging. The doctors would need a better look at her chest, and her blood would most likely come back to show a certain bacterial infection associated with pneumonia.” Whale looked everywhere but at Killian, his words sincere but hidden behind a falseness that Killian was certain was only to protect himself.

“X-ray,” Killian repeated, half for confirmation and half to help him remember. He sniffed some tears away and wiped his roughened face with the back of his hand.

“That's on floor 4,” Whale offered, finally looking at Killian with a smile. “If someone was looking for someone else, they might want to start there.” Whale hopped from foot to foot. He was not a Storybrooke native and the cold really took its hold in his bones. Some days he wished he was still in Florida, the sun beating down on his freshly waxed chest as he strolled hand in hand with his boyfriend through the state's soft sand beaches. Some days he wished for a job where he would get to see his boyfriend more, especially today as he took in the anguish on Killian's face. “Theoretically,” he grinned.

Killian's feet skipped together and he flashed Whale a cheeky thankful grin. He knew the young doctor could get in serious trouble, but he wouldn't. If anyone asked him, Killian would deny everything, telling them that he had found Emma himself. Killian's heart beat furiously in time with his footsteps as he clambered his way up the stairwell, the walls supposed to be white but years of hands and the odd body leaning against them turning them a pale yellow. Waiting for the elevator would take too long and Killian felt he had already been away from Emma for long enough. His fingers glowed white as he gripped the cool, black handrail, pulling himself up two or three of the harsh concrete stairs at a time, as his footsteps echoed up and down the column of steps.

Floor 4 was much the same as all of the others in the hospital and so as soon as he exited the stairwell, Killian looked lost. The heavy fake wood door pulled itself closed with a scraping sound behind him, bumping him further into the hall. To his left, Killian noticed a few more seats identical to the waiting room ones, but these looked newer and hardly worn. There were no people sitting in them and Killian suspected most people waited four floors below him rather than make the pilgrimage to wait on anything as mundane as an x-ray. To his right, he spied a small curved desk, his attention drawn by the dull ringing of a telephone.

The nurse behind the desk was older than others Killian had seen so far and wondered if she had been primarily hired for her administrative duties. Her greying hair was short, slightly wavy from the dampness outside, and pinned from her face with a sliding hair clip. She spied Killian's approach and held out a stern finger as she finished her telephone conversation.

Killian drummed his fingers against the laminate countertop, a surge of adrenaline pulsating through him in every muscle. After what seemed like a lifetime the nurse hung up the white plastic receiver with a clack and looked up at Killian warmly.

“I'm looking for Emma Swan,” Killian blurted out hastily, not even giving her a chance to greet him. “She came up here for a chest x-ray,” he offered more information in the hopes it would help her find Emma even more quickly. The nurse casually picked up a small pair of reading glasses next to her and slid them onto her face, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so. Her long-nailed fingers found her off grey keyboard and she tapped at the keys, studying the screen that flickered and bathed her face in a white glow.

“Emma Swan...Emma Swan...,” she almost hummed to herself and her eye flicked up and down the screen. Killian craned his neck to see the screen but it was futile from his elevated position. He could tell technology was not this woman's strong point and her lack of haste annoyed him. “Ah! Here we go,” she declared triumphantly running a long, manicured fingernail down the screen and following it across the surface with her eyes. “She has been moved to ICU,-” She began, but the sound of Killian’s boots squeaking on the tiles made her look up from the monitor. “Hey!” She called after Killian as he sprinted away from the desk. “You're welcome!” she huffed.

Killian had already seen a sign for the ICU and he had committed the directions to memory already. His pace was steady but urgent, his shoes slapping against the buffed tiles but making barely a noise in the busy halls. Killian's chest heaved with each breath he took, his nostrils filling with the medical smells of plastic and the coppery tang of blood. People eyed him as he wandered the halls, their eyes flickering over his slightly hunched figure and turning away when he caught their gaze.

Killian rounded a smooth corner, dragging his hand lazily along the cold painted concrete smoothness and committing the texture to memory. Killian's entire world was sensory, his fingertips like hypersensitive receptors that gave him insight into the world. He had a thirst for knowledge, a wanton need to take in every single piece of stimuli his body found. Killian had always been like this, and as a child, his growing knowledge and intelligence had grown his ego. Some people would call Killian arrogant, and he had lost many friends by simply being himself.

Emma had seen Killian at his most arrogant and still accepted him into her life. They had only known each other for a short while but already they had shared each other's lives and beds so often that Killian felt like they had known each other for years. His senses had already committed the feel of Emma to his memory, plastering the softness of her lips, the silky smooth texture of her skin and the beauty and grace of her naked body forever in his psyche. Killian never wanted to forget the feel of her under his hands, the way her body reacted to his so naturally and casually with a single touch. So much could be said without words, and Emma's body sang a chorus for him each and every time he was near. Killian's own words echoed in his head.

_‘I can't stop loving her.’_

There was a turmoil within Killian. He had never had a relationship, had barely dated even, but now he was searching the dimly lit halls of a busy hospital for the single spark of light in his darkness. When Emma had collapsed in front of him she had ripped away all the power he held over his own body and emotions. Never had he felt this way and as unsettling as it was for him, he never wanted to let it go. Killian was so busy in his thought that he almost missed the familiar scent that invaded his nostrils and made his heart flutter in his chest. He slowed his search, quietly peeking into each room as he passed, his nose pressed to each glass pane until he saw the familiar flash of straw blonde against a crystal white pillow.

Killian took a long look up and down both sides of the hallway and when he was content he was being ignored by all of the staff, he slid open the door to the room. Slipping inside, he pulled it closed behind him with a click, his skin tickling with heat as he finally laid eyes upon Emma. The room was empty apart from her small frame tucked up securely in the bed, a snow white sheet pulled up to cover her body. The doctors had cut all of her clothes off and Emma was now only dressed in a harsh, starchy hospital issue nightgown, its light blue colour clashing with the rest of the room.

Killian took a tentative step towards her, careful not to wake her, his feet making no sound against the reflective, highly polished floor. The room was dark, the blinds having been drawn, and a dimmed orange glow cast itself over Emma as she slept. She seemed angelic, the hue radiating from her entire body as if she was an angel, but she was torn and damaged and a cannula protruded harshly from the back of her still hand. Killian took another step towards her, covering his mouth with a shaky hand, half to hide his gasp and half to muffle the cry that he had let out. Emma lay perfectly still, her eyes closed and unresponsive to the beeping of hospital equipment that surrounded her. She was silent, the sound of gushing air filling the room every few moments the only noise that could be heard as the small box ventilator breathed for her. Two tubes, one white and one blue, were connected to a clear one, taped haphazardly to her grey lips to stop it falling out.

Finally reaching her side, Killian sank down into the high back visitor chair that was there. The room was warm, much warmer than he had thought the rest of the hospital was, and he quickly pulled his arms from his light jacket. He let the stiff material pool behind him as he sat forward in the chair, his face searching over Emma as she lay lifeless before him. Killian's breath caught in his throat, hitching with a vibration in his chest. He reached out, plucked Emma's listless hand from the bed and curled his long, warming fingers around hers.

Killian couldn't believe what was happening and a surge of anger ran through him. Of all the people this could have happened to, Emma deserved it the least. All she ever did was help others, put herself out there for anyone who needed her to. She was a shining beacon in the otherwise enveloping darkness of Killian's existence, and as she lay before him threatening to extinguish, he couldn't take it. Killian bunched her hands in his, cupping it between the two huge palms and pressed it to his lips. Emma's skin was soft and familiar and smelled of cheap hand wash under his nose and he held her to him, letting his lips brush over her knuckles and finally letting his tears escape with a heaving, pained cry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 for 1 chapters this week! Yay!

“Stop it,” Killian grumbled, peeling one eye open to look at Emma. She smiled sweetly and watched the particles of dust flutter in the sunlight spreading itself across Killian's face. He squinted and rolled over onto his side with a groan, his face pressing itself into the cool, crisp pillow. Emma was laying on her front, propped up on her elbows, her entire body glowing in the daybreak sunlight as she laid beside him naked.

“Stop what?” Emma whispered, shuffling herself forward so she was closer to him. Killian could smell her and inhaled deeply with a yawn, savouring the way she invaded his senses with her familiar post-coital scent. Finally opening both eyes, Killian's gaze flicked over her body with a smirk, the smoothness of her behind absorbing the heat of the sun. Instinct told Killian to reach out and his hands itched to feel her skin against his.

“You seem to have an obsession with watching me sleep,” he quipped huskily. Killian's hand snaked out of the crisp white sheets and brushed a lock of Emma's sun drenched hair behind her ear. It was soft and messy, but unmistakably that which he enjoyed so much.

Emma leaned into Killian touch, shivering as he trailed his long, skilled fingers down her neck. Emma's eyes fluttered closed and the familiar, welcome ache in her bones crept up her spine. “But I like-,” Emma gulped, her words cut off when Killian's lips made contact with her skin as he kissed her arm, humming with a smirk when he heard her gasp.

Killian rolled his weight forward, pushing gently against Emma’s shoulder, his hand drawing lazy circles on the delicate skin. The room was warm, even warmer in the sunlight that tumbled across the whiteness of the bedsheets, and Emma fell backwards onto the downy pillows with a silent laugh. Killian's fingers danced down her arm, jumping to the soft curve of the side of her breast where his hands paused against her skin.

“You like?” Killian teased, watching Emma's expression as she writhed beneath his touch. Emma's back arched off the bed, pressing the hardness of her blushed nipples into Killian's palms, his breath ghosting over the buds.

Emma gulped, squeezing her eyes tightly closed when she felt the longing between her thighs ignite. Her skin burned but she wasn't sure if it was because Killian set her ablaze with passion or the sun had crept to her side of the bed already. Killian smirked, rolling Emma's nipple under his thumb and leaning down to kiss at the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Emma's hair tickled at his face, catching in the week old growth that littered his jaw.

“Killian,” Emma whimpered, her voice barely audible through his kisses. “Don't stop,” she breathed, her hands reaching for his head and holding his lips to her skin with a firm grip in his sleep messed hair.

“I’ll never stop,” Killian panted against her, the words leaving a damp residue on her skin as he made his way down her throat.

“Don't leave me,” Emma whispered and Killian frowned against her sternum, her words confusing him as he tore his mouth from her skin, noticing the room had been dulled by the sunlight disappearing. Killian pulled back to look down at Emma, her skin turning ashen and grey under his touch and he pulled his fingers away as it changed, rolling away from her and panic filling his body.

“Don't let me go,” Emma pleaded, her eyes filling with the salty water of tears.

“I won't,” Killian stammered, shaking his head. His heart beat faster in his chest, thundering painfully in his ears and his eyes tried desperately to focus on Emma's as they crumbled from her face.

“Don't give up on me,” Emma's words echoed, almost distant despite her being so close to him. Killian flushed hot, jumping from the bedsheets as Emma's lithe figure began to twist and distort before him. Her already pale skin turned darker, cracks visibly appearing like dark chasms all over her body and when Emma reached out a precariously fragile hand, her fingers began to fall away, leaving a sprinkle of dark, black and white ash on the pristine bedsheets.

“Emma!” Killian shouted, the room falling dark around him. The perfect, white window frame fell away, falling from view with a cracking sound. The ceiling pulled away and Killian watched it fly off into a never ending sky, overcast with blackness and rumbling with thunder. Killian took a shaky step back, watching the previously inviting wooden flooring beneath his feet splinter and shard in all directions.

“Killian.” Emma's voice faded away, further and further on each pleading gasp. “Killian,” she cried, the sound barely leaving her mouth before her beautiful face dissolved into a volcanic heap on the pillow.

“Killian!” His name echoed loudly in the air, clashing with the roll of thunder and a flash of lightning. Killian flinched at the sound and he saw a flash of white behind his eyes as he pinched them closed and let the world swallow him whole.

Killian jumped in his seat, his head slipping from his hand and jolting him awake. It was a nightmare, so vivid and real to him that Killian's body had responded by sweating and sticking his shirt to his skin. After hours of waiting, worrying, the material had become as ragged and aged as Killian felt. He blinked rapidly, flashes of Emma's charred remains and shrieks of despair ingrained on his memory. Killian never wanted to feel the loss he did right now, and it had only been a dream that had made him feel this way. The reality of right now was far scarier.

The slow hum of machines and the rhythmic beep of Emma's monitored heartbeat filled the room, reminding Killian where he was. He glanced around and noticed the darkness outside of the window, the town lights of Storybrooke like amber candles along the streets. A few noises outside of the room caught his attention, and Killian snapped his head in the direction of two talking doctors, discussing a patient beyond the huge glass doors. The privacy curtains were pulled together, but he could make out their conversation through a tiny gap in the rough, white material.

Killian relaxed back into his seat, his hot skin cooling against the vinyl. “It was only a dream,” he told himself tiredly. Killian sighed, covering his face with his slightly sweaty hands and dragging them over his face with a yawn. His mind raced with the image of Emma fading to ash again and hot goosebumps prickled his skin. Killian cast a weary, sorrowful glance upon the real Emma before him and couldn't fight the pang in his heart.

Emma was still unconscious, her features unchanged and the machine still breathing for her with a forced rise and fall of her chest. Her skin was pale, slightly swollen around her eyes and cheeks, but she was there, real and palpable. So many of Killian's questions remained unanswered by her silence and with each huff of the ventilator, his heart wrenched in his chest. Killian grabbed the warm, wooden handles on the chair and shuffled it forward, bumping his knees against the plastic bed frame, ignoring the dull pain shooting through his legs. He laid his hand on Emma's arm, drawing deliberate lines across her forearm with his thumb. Even in slumber, Emma's body reacted to his touch, and her skin turning tiny bumps under his fingertips.

“Oh, Emma,” Killian breathed, lifting Emma's heavy hand from the sheets and kissing her knuckles. There was a small graze to the skin there, probably inflicted when she fell, and Killian wished he had been able to catch her. Killian would always catch her if she let him. The scuffed skin had started to heal already and Killian wondered how long he had been asleep. He tilted his wrist, and flashed a glance at his watch, the smeared glass face reflecting his tired features back at him. It was seven in the evening; nine hours since Emma had fainted.

“Come back to me,” he breathed faintly, giving her hand a tiny squeeze. “I need you to be alright.”

The door to Emma's room was suddenly pulled open and a doctor breezed in, his head tilted down and his eyes busily searching over Emma's electronic notes in front of him. His white coat whipped behind him and a short, blonde nurse that followed him slid the glass door closed behind them. He was probably nearing retirement, his balding head littered with only the smallest smattering of silvery grey fuzz. Killian reluctantly dropped Emma's hand and stood up from his chair awkwardly, pushing it back from the bed with a scraping noise. He barely had time to dry the clamminess from his hands on his pants before the Doctor offered him a hand.

“I'm Dr Mendez,” he chirped, not letting his gaze meet Killian's once.

“Killian.” Killian gave him his hand and they shook stiffly. “Killian Jones.”

“How is our patient doing?” Dr Mendez asked half to Killian and half to the nurse at his side. She was a rounded lady, her hips and shoulders the same width and her short, stubby arms fiddled with the flow of Emma's IV.

Killian watched Dr Mendez as he walked around the other side of the bed, flicking his eyes over the numbers and lines on Emma's monitors. “She hasn't moved, or said anything,” Killian said sadly, rubbing his hand together in front of him nervously. Any second now he was expecting to be ejected from the room when the staff found out he wasn't family.

“Well, she is in a medically induced coma, Mr Jones.” The doctor peered at him with a narrowed gaze, mentally noting the difference in surnames. “She won't wake up yet.” Dr Mendez nodded towards the nurse and she nodded back, a silent gesture they had obviously both practised many times before.

“Why? When will she?” Killian pried, concern rushing into his veins. “I need to-.” He paused, biting his tongue. He had so much to say to her, to prove to her, and he felt like it had all been ripped away from him so suddenly. “I just need her,” Killian sighed, rubbing a single finger over the skin behind his ear.

Dr. Mendez stopped and looked at Killian, halting his hurried questioning. He had lots of patients, too many if he was honest, but the tone of sadness in Killian's voice made him stop for a second. Delivering news was easier when it was good news. Finally, he turned his head to meet Killian's wide-eyed stare and offered him a soft smile.

“We are going to monitor her for the next few hours, but so far she has responded well to the antibiotics we have given her.” Dr Mendez folded his arms over his chest as he spoke, taking in the broken shell of a man in front of him. Killian didn't respond, waiting for more information that the doctor might have to give. “I know this seems extreme, but she has a rare complication from her pneumonia, and this is for the best. We caught the pneumonia early,” he offered with a tight-lipped smile.

“Can she hear me?” Killian asked and Dr Mendez nodded with a smile.

“Most patients that have been in a coma say they could hear the voices of their families,” he said, not committing to any answers that might give Killian any hope or take any away.

“When they woke up,” Killian confirmed to himself. Dr Mendez swallowed hard and fiddled with his name tag. It was plastic with a metal swivel that had become twisted, and he straightened it up against his pocket.

“Miss Swan is strong,” he said confidently. “It won’t be long and she'll be off the machines.”

“So, she'll be okay?” Killian's eyes fell back on Emma's tired frame, and he swore her hair had lost most of its colour. The colour was greyer, muted and her lips were dry and cracking underneath the tube. Killian stepped closer to her, gulping a lump down his throat as he reached out a tentative hand and stroked Emma's messy hair flat.

“This is all a precaution.” Dr Mendez motioned around, pointing the equipment out to Killian as he spoke. “We are breathing for her to reduce the risk of permanent damage to her lungs.” Whilst he spoke, the nurse busied herself with inputting data to Emma's chart held on the tablet in her hands.

“Or the baby's,” the nurse mumbled sweetly lifting her gaze from the bright screen of the tablet with a soft smile.

Killian nodded as they spoke but he didn't hear the words after what the nurse has just revealed. Killian's gaze was fixated on Emma's chest, the gentle rise and fall simulated in time with his ragged breathing. It hitched in his throat, the overwhelming urge to cry pricking in his eyes once more. Adrenaline coursed through his body, Killian's entire body tingling with fear and his heart changing its beat with love for a child he hadn't even met or even knew had existed until just now.

“Thank you,” Killian offered weakly not looking at the doctor or the nurse.

“We'll give you some privacy,” the doctor offered back, motioning the nurse to follow him from the room.

Killian ignored the sounds of the hospital when the door opened, and heaved a breath, blowing out a huge rattled sigh as the tears fell. The nurse's words bounced around Killian's brain and he stilled his hand in Emma's hair. Light, nimble fingers rubbed some of the soft curls between their tips, and a silly gasp escaped Killian's chest.

“Did you know?” Killian smiled sweetly towards Emma's unresponsive face. He turned over his warmed hand and brushed his knuckles down the side of her cheek. Emma's skin was cool to the touch and a little oily from her fever.

“I mean, you would have told me, right?” Killian quizzed, his brow knitting together in a frown. “Of course you would have,” Killian scolded himself instantly, shaking his head a little. There was no sound to reassure him of his words, only his own mutterings and the regular beep of the machines. His body tensed and his gut fell away from him, the uncertainty of his future suddenly very real. Their future.

“Do you even want kids?” Killian's questions came thick and fast, tumbling from his mouth like water over a fall. “We haven't talked about it.” And why would they? They had barely dated.

“How many? Do you want a boy or a girl? Will you go back to work afterwards? What will we tell other people? Have you thought of names?” Killian rambled, his voice jumping and hitching as he became a little irritated by the one-sided conversation. He ran a quick hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his ear harshly with his blunt fingernails.

“I can't believe you didn't tell me,” Killian exclaimed sadly, his hand languishing slow trails up and down Emma's arm. “Were you angry at me?” Killian waited but Emma returned no answer. Killian watched her, his eyes skimming over her face for any sign she was listening. Emma's eyes rolled under her eyelids, a remnant of the deepest induced sleep she was hidden in.

The whole misunderstanding with Shelley weighed heavy on Killian's mind and he swallowed his sadness down with a gulp. There had been hardly any time to explain, to ease Emma's worries and fears, and Killian felt a sudden distaste for himself in his mouth. He couldn't live with himself knowing that Emma had known she was pregnant and hadn't told him because she was angry. It was all his fault. If only he had worked things out earlier. Killian was one hundred percent sure Emma, however incensed with him, would never have held this sort of information from him. She was good, and pure and innocent.

“You didn't know, did you, love?” Killian's question fell on deaf ears and he got no response from Emma's lifeless body. Killian's lip quivered and he bit down on the flesh until it turned white. “You don't know,” he confirmed sadly.

Killian took a step back and dropped back into the chair behind him. The flimsy vinyl creaked under his weight as he shifted around uncomfortably. Killian reached out and gripped Emma's thin wrist in his nimble fingers, smoothing his thumb over the soft skin there and tracing the outline of the petal on her tattoo. Killian thought it felt warmer than it had before, but it was probably just Emma's fever.

“I promise you, anything you need, anything the baby needs,” Killian's words trailed off and his lips twitched into a thin, sideways smile. He was going to be a father and although woefully underprepared, his tension was laced with excitement. “We made a baby,” he giggled nervously, leaning forward and pressing his lips to her damp forehead.

“Emma,” Killian began, dropping his face to her ear and stretching out his palm over her flat stomach where life had yet to show. “I love you.”

Killian's head whipped up, the high-pitched whirr of an alarm sounding from Emma's heart monitor filling the room. There was a little red light flashing on top of the screen, and Killian watched the numbers in the corner start to increase. Killian pulled his hand from her body as she began to heave, her whole body going rigid and arching itself from the bed. Emma's eyes shot open, watery and bloodshot, and she fixed her gaze on Killian's petrified expression. “Emma,” he breathed, rushing closer to her so hard that he cracked his skull on an overhead swing arm lamp. He winced but ignored the pain when his forehead began to throb.

Emma struggled, her weak limbs swinging wildly by her face, grabbing for the offending tube down her throat. Her tingling fingers scratched numbly at the clear plastic, her eyes wide with panic. Emma was dazed, still heavily drugged and confused, and she didn't understand what was happening. She couldn't breathe, her throat was stretched by the medical equipment that had been breathing for her, and now her lungs were scorched by the red hot pain of the need to inhale.

Emma shook her head from side to side, her hair flicking wildly on the pillow where she lay. Adrenaline surged through her, prickling uninvited heat over her skin, and Emma wretched and heaved. She could barely focus through the tears in her eyes and the world went fuzzy around the edges of her vision. With what felt like her last ounce of energy, Emma lifted her arms and reached for Killian, eager to free her lungs from the searing pain, silently begging him to call her her doctor.

“Emma, no!” Killian soothed quickly, sure she would grab for her tube. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the bed. “It's alright,” he nodded quickly, his own breath quickening with the increase in Emma's heartbeat. “Can somebody help?!” He called out hysterically, shooting a quick glance to the doors, and no sooner had the words left his mouth, a gaggle of nurses and Dr Mendez rushed into the room.

Emma struggled against him, an unknown strength finding her suddenly, and Killian turned back to her, holding her gaze. He placed a quivering palm to her cheek, smoothing away her tears with the soft pad of his thumb, his heart thumping in his chest so fiercely he thought he might have a heart attack. “I'm here, love. It's alright, I promise.” Killian felt Emma relax, a single tear falling from her eyelids and rolling down her cheek as she nodded slowly in compliance.

“Step aside!” Dr Mendez snipped, shoving Killian aside with a gentle elbow. Killian staggered backwards, his rubber-soled shoes scuffing against the tiled floor. He fumbled blindly with his shirt sleeves, wrenching them up to expose his inked arms and bunching them over his elbow. Killian's sweaty palms found his face, clinging to the sides of his cheeks as he helplessly watched the swarm of medical staff around Emma.

“Emma. Emma, my name is Dr Mendez,” the doctor said softly, his words short and curt and his breath hot against the skin of her cheek. Leaning closer still, Dr Mendez pointed and instructed his staff in the right direction for what was to come. “You have a tube down your throat, so we need you to breathe out of your nose, okay?” He waited for Emma to nod at him, her eyes full of understanding but no less scared. “It's okay,” he soothed. “It will be out soon.”

One of the nurses, one Killian had not met before, ran over to the ventilator and switch it off. The machine powered down with a dizzy hum, its lights going out with a blink. The same nurse, dressed in different coloured scrubs to the others, quickly detached the tube connection with a click and let the rubbery pipes fall to the floor. It hit the ground silently and was crushed under her weight when the nurse stepped forward even closer to the bed.

“Now, honey,” she began, her thick, southern drawl tumbling from her mouth fast and messily. “I'm going to sit you up and when I tell you, I want you to cough for me, okay?” Her words were almost a blur and Emma barely made any out through the echo in her ears. Emma shot a quick wide-eyed glance at Killian, urging him silently to help her. She was gulping for breath, struggling to calm her breathing through her nose as it filled up mucus.

Two nurses sat Emma up, her bed creaking under the strain of its electric motor. Another nurse flicked on the lights, the whole room flooded with a sterile, white hue. Emma pinched her eyes closed, the light stinging behind her eyelids. Her hands found the bed rails and Emma held on, gripping the off-white plastic, her patience for the obstruction in her throat waning fast.

“Emma, honey, you’ve been in an induced coma and we are going to extubate you,” the lead nurse continued. “Do you know what that means, sweetie?” The nurse was kind, her words soothing and she brushed a tendril of hair from Emma's sticky forehead tenderly.

Emma calmed. Of course she did, she was a doctor after all. And this was a test, to see how well Emma could communicate and show cognitive function. It was one of the ways doctors knew if a patient was ready to breathe on their own. Emma could hear Killian, but she couldn't see him through the wall of nurses. Her mind was torn between thinking like a doctor and thinking like a patient, scared one minute and then feeling brave the next.

“Help her!” Killian snapped, his temper and frustration bursting into the room. He was done with standing on the sidelines. He was done pretending to be family just to see Emma. Technically now, he was family, and the urge to protect both Emma and the baby was uncontrollable. “She can't breathe, damn it!”

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” Dr Mendez took a step towards Killian, blocking his view of Emma. Another nurse stepped between them, crowding Emma's bed until she was completely hidden.

“Don't tell me to calm down!” Killian growled throwing his hands up into the air. “I'm done being calm!”

“Sir, you can't shout in here!” One of the nurses chimed in lifting a wall mounted telephone receiver. She kept an eye on Killian whilst dialling a few figures with a stiff, gloved finger. “Security,” she spoke into the handle, her one-word answer a statement.

Killian shook off a tall, thin male nurse who grabbed his shoulder. “Get off me!” he snapped, wrenching his shoulder forward and eyeing the sheepish nurse. “Touch me again-,” Killian gruffed low, but his words were cut off by the sound of Emma suddenly gulping a huge desperate breath.

Killian instantly softened, his cheeks flushing red with a mixture of nerves and adoration. His instant calm was noticed and Dr Mendez wove a dismissing hand towards the nurse on the phone. She uttered a few words, following orders but still suspicious of Killian's rage, and told security things were now fine.

Emma's body shook as she coughed, her eyes streaming with yet more tears. One of the nurses dabbed at her tears with a small piece of scratchy paper towel, but Emma welcomed the feel of it against her skin. It meant she was awake, but she could not remember how she had got here, and as the sea of staff parted in front of her, Emma finally focused on what she wanted to see the most.

“Killian,” she croaked, a tiny weak smile curling her lips. Killian's face spread into a sprightly grin and he heaved a sigh of relief at her words. Emma saying his name was everything. It meant so much and the wash of comfort that accompanied it was all Killian needed right now.


	11. Chapter 11

The darkness outside enveloped Storybrooke, its streets quieter than a few hours before. David's office building was warm, a contrast to the chilled evening outside, the silence only broken by the rapping of the rain against the immaculately clean window pane that stretched from floor to ceiling. Condensation has appeared against the glass, forming tiny, cool droplets that rolled in fluid lines down the screen. David sat hunched in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight as he leaned back and stretched a little. The day was drawing to a close, the business hours long in the past, and so when his intercom buzzed, David jumped a little in his seat.

With a sigh, he planted a foot firmly to the thick carpeting and pushed, spinning his entire bulk around on the executive leather backed recliner. David's jacket has been discarded hours ago, now hanging lifelessly on his coat rack by the door. His shirt was crumpled, the folds etched into one another despite his massive bulk stretching the material taunt against his chest. David had messily rolled up his sleeves, folding the material against itself awkwardly and letting the bunched cotton rest below his elbows. David reached forward, pulling his chair towards his huge, wooden desk and pressed a thick, blunted fingertip to the flashing white button.

“Mary Margaret, it's after nine,” David scolded lightly, his voice tired and weary. Mary Margaret was dedicated, staying much later than she needed to on such a distasteful evening. David made a mental note to make sure her bonus was increased at Christmas time, but her words quickly shook him from his thoughts.

“Mr. Nolan,” she interrupted quickly, almost a pant. “It's the hospital on line one, and you have to take this,” she gulped, a hint of sadness in her sigh. “It's Emma.”

David scooted forward in his chair, grabbing the receiver quickly and pressing it to his head so quickly that his ear began to sting and burn. His heart skipped in his chest, pounding the blood through his ears and flushing his entire body with prickly heat. David stabbed at the worn button and the line clicked, the instant hustle of the hospital background noise filling his ears. “Nolan,” he whimpered impatiently.

“Mr. Nolan, this is,” The womanly voice chimed, but her softness was cut off.

“What's happened to my sister?” David pressed eagerly, his fingertips turning white against the cold, black receiver. “Emma Swan. Is she okay? Where is she? What happened?” He blurted sporadically, repeating himself clumsily.

“We’ve been trying to contact you for hours. She's okay,” the voice soothed and David relaxed a little. He felt the yellow stained armpits of his shirt turning damp again as well as a bead of sweat ripple down his back. “She listed you as her emergency contact but you must have changed your number. I'm afraid that is all I can tell you over the phone.”

David exhaled audibly and rubbed his clammy forehead with shaky fingertips. Emma was all he had left in this world, his last remaining reminder of his mother and his only family. He couldn't stop his mind racing, contemplating what had happened and how he could be receiving a phone call from a hospital. Had she been in an accident? She obviously couldn't call him herself so it had to be serious. How badly was she hurt? David could only think the worst.

“Mr. Nolan?” The voice echoed and David suspected it hadn't been the first time his name had been called.

“I'm sorry, I just,-”

“It's okay, I understand this is sudden. How about you come to the hospital and see her? Talk to a Doctor?” the voice suggested timidly.

David nodded hurriedly and pushed himself up from his chair. The leather bound cushioned seat bounced upwards and flew backwards, spinning away from David's body. “I'm on my way.”

\--

Killian smiled sweetly, his eyes turning up at the corners as he did so. His fingers interlaced with Emma's, their palms pressed together as he clutched her hand in his desperately. Lifting their balled hands, Killian pressed a soft, closed mouth kiss to her knuckles, soothing her skin. Relief washed over him and he relished in the feel of the warmth of Emma's touch once more.

“You scared me.” He smiled at her, rolling her hand around on his cheek so he could feel more of her against his face. His stubble scratched at Emma's hand but she didn't care. It made her feel awake, in the moment and reality of now, instead of the dull echo in her ears she had heard whilst in the induced comatose state. Emma pulled her hand from his weakly, returning it to the side of his prickly cheek and trailing her fingertips down his beautiful features, a silent combination of apology and reassurance.

Emma's eyes felt heavy lidded and stung from the tears that had been falling. Her chest burned, her lungs still holding some fluid, only eased by the oxygen she was receiving. A thin, clear plastic two-pronged device sat in her nostrils and was attached to a tube of the same colour. It stuck to her face, trailed across her cheeks where it left a pink hue against her skin and was tucked loosely behind her ears. Resting on her chest was the rest of the tube and a quick intermittent hiss filled the room from an oxygen canister.

“Why are you smiling?” Emma croaked, her throat scratchy and sore from the breathing tube that had now been removed. Emma gulped, the lump sticking to the side of her windpipe and her nose wrinkling slightly with the pain.

“Am I?” Killian smirked, peeling his eyes open to look at her once more. He toyed with her hand in his, patting it softly and tenderly like he might break her if he held on too hard.

“You are.” Emma forced a smile back at him, letting her tired eyes flutter closed. She was sitting up in bed, the white sheets thick and harsh against her skin that pinned her weakened body to the mattress. Again she swallowed a dry mass down her throat and let her head fall back against the high mountain of pillows behind her with a groan of exhaustion.

“Here.” Killian reluctantly let her hand go and reached over for a small cup of water. The tiny clear plastic cup rustled in his hand as he picked it up and offered it to Emma with a thin, black straw. “Take a drink, it will help your throat.” He nodded at her, noticing the visible pain she was in with every sip.

Emma closed her dry, cracked lips around the plastic straw and sucked weakly. Ice cold water trickled into her mouth and down her arid throat, soothing the burning sensation there. Emma's throat still hurt, irritated by the lack of hydration the water offered, but she forced a tight lipped smile for Killian nonetheless.

“That’s it, love, all better,” Killian said beaming and replaced the cup back onto the light wooden veneer of the overbed table. An awkwardly comfortable silence fell between them and Emma laid her head back upon the hospital pillow, rolling her head sideways to look at Killian once more.

“You are a good man, Killian Jones,” Emma said, her voice cracking with her words. She reached out a pale hand and laid it over Killian's, gripping delicately at his long, lithe fingers. If Emma had still been home alone, who knows how long it would have taken anyone to find her body heaped behind her front door. She was thankful for Killian's quick thinking in getting her to the hospital so swiftly and she was thankful things were not a lot worse than they already were.

“I have my moments,” Killian whispered smoothly. He reached forward, unable to contain his hands any longer and pushed a stray hair from Emma's face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed now that her body had begun to warm up, and she fidgeted shyly under his touch. Killian's ocean blue eyes bore into Emma's green pools, dancing across the features of her face lovingly. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about their unborn child, barely changing Emma's body yet, and he smiled wider.

“What are you thinking about?” Emma asked quietly with a slight cough. Emma had heard things. They say a patient has the ability to listen and hear what is said around them, and some of her fellow colleagues had made the mistake of thinking it impossible. Emma knew she was pregnant, and it burned at her insides.

“Nothing,” Killian lied sweetly, snaking his palm across her body and flattening his palm out over her stomach. “Have you spoken to the doctors yet?”

Killian's intent was to mention the baby, but he was petrified. The whirlwind that has been their relationship so far was far too fragile to handle that sort of information right now. Killian only wanted to know Emma was healing well and understood what had happened to her. Over the last few hours, Killian's mind had been racing with thoughts of the future and how he had discovered something he never knew he had wanted but was sure he never wanted to lose.

“I have,” Emma confirmed with a small nod. “I feel so stupid,” Emma admitted quickly. “You'd think a doctor would recognise pneumonia when she sees it,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes at herself. They were still bulging and sore from all the crying she had done not that long ago, and her vision was still a little blurry.

“You thought you just had the flu,” Killian reassured her, rubbing his fingers lightly over her belly. Emma watched his hand contently with a smile and laid her hand over his. “You’re a good doctor.”

Emma laughed, her creaky voice echoing into the room and her whole body shaking the bed. “I can't be that good of a doctor,” Emma jeered, looking away from him sadly.

“Emma-,” Killian began but she cut him off quickly with the words or realisation he was hoping would wait for a time when she was a little stronger.

“I missed my morning sickness too.” Emma gulped hard and looked back to Killian with a watery stare. She held his gaze, watching the colour drain from his face. Killian's tongue darted out to moisten his lips, a nervous habit Emma had noticed he did on occasion, and he sucked in a deep breath. The silence between them was deafening, each consoling the other with just a flicker of hope behind their eyes.

“You know,” Killian said softly, his words a statement rather than a question. He suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed that he hadn't already told her. 

“I heard you,” Emma breathed, grabbing his hand roughly like she might never let go. “And a doctor confirmed it when you went to get a coffee.”

Killian sighed and offered her a weak smile. “I'm sorry, love, I should have told you.”

Emma shook her head slowly, her hair sticking to the pillow from static. Emma offered her own sigh and slipped her hand from his. “I was stupid,” she said croakily and winced as she sat herself up in the bed. Emma's whole body ached, her joints burning and throbbing with pain as she struggled to sit up. Killian sprang from his chair, loosely hooking his hands under her arms and helping her with a gentle apology.

“We were stupid,” Killian corrected her. “We should have been more careful, Emma. We are both adults here.” Killian placed his hands to Emma's face, cupping her cheeks in his warming palms. Leaning forward he pressed his lips to her nose, letting the softness of his lips linger against her skin. Killian didn't know how to make it right and it killed him, his heart pinching in his chest.

Emma shook her head against his face, pressing her forehead against his and lifting her heavy hand to palm his cheek. “No,” she whimpered. “The first time, in the shower,” Emma gasped, her tears threatening to fall hot and burning down her cheek.

“Emma, it's alright, really,” Killian leaned down on the bed, kneeling next to her, his weight causing her tiny frame to roll towards him. Emma reached up her hand, her fingers quivering as she pressed them to his lips, silencing him with a sorrowful look.

“I tried to take the morning after pill,” Emma confessed. “I couldn't. I lost it, and now look!” Emma turned away from him, her anger towards herself evident in her words. “I didn't mean for this to happen, Killian, I'm sorry.”

Emma rolled over in the bed, the act itself agonizing and racking her body with pain as she shuffled down into the rough hospital sheets. The breathing tube dug into her face and her tears hit the pillow when she turned her face into it, away from Killian and away from his beautiful lamentable stare. So much had happened since the death of her mother and Emma suddenly felt lost and alone. She had always imagined being married, pregnant with a husband at her side to share in her joy of becoming a family, but now Emma only felt cold and broken.

“Why are you sorry?” Killian's brow furrowed.

“Killian, you've known me five minutes,” Emma coughed out a laugh, her words ragged and spiteful. “This isn't what you want,” Emma told him flatly, staring blankly at the tiny bubble in the oxygen meter beside her bed. The small green ball bobbed upwards each time the pure oxygen whooshed from the canister and then dropped back down to the bottom of the plastic bell shaped vial.

Killian took in a sharp breath, biting back tears of sorrow he never knew were even fighting their way to prick as his eyes. He blinked rapidly, clearing them from his vision and sniffed quickly, rubbing a palm over his face. Frozen to the spot, he didn't know what to do. Two parts of his being struggled internally against each other and Killian swore he could feel the battle in his heart.

“What about what you want?” Killian offered poignantly. He took a tentative step back towards the bed until he felt his thigh bump the harsh plastic edge.

“It doesn't matter,” Emma heaved, clutching the bedsheets to her face and letting her sobs rack her tiny frame. 

Killian's heart finally tore in two and he couldn't stop himself from climbing onto the bed behind her. He positioned himself against her body and felt each of her cries vibrate through him every time Emma heaved a breath. Killian enclosed her within his arms and held her tight like he would lose her if he let her go. Emma grabbed onto his forearm, holding it to her bosom as she wept.

“Shhhh, love,” Killian soothed with his own low toned sob. “Of course it matters,” Killian smoothed the hair that had fallen across Emma's face back with his palm and kissed the back of her head. “Emma, if you want this, I want this too,” Killian cried into her hair, inhaling the faint scent of her that lingered there.

Emma reached behind her and held Killian's head to her neck, digging her fingernails lightly into the back of his scalp. The urgency of her touch told Killian she wanted this. The pain resonating from her every word told Killian that she wanted this. A baby wasn't what they planned for, but it didn't change anything about how they felt. The silence between them was all Killian needed as an answer. Killian loved Emma more than anything he had ever known before and doubted he would ever feel anything as strong until the day his child was safely in his arms. 

“Please don’t push me away. You don't get to do this alone,” Killian whispered sweetly. He propped himself up on his elbow, hooked a crooked finger under Emma's pale chin and tilted her head towards his. Emma's eyes flickered over him, searching his face and etching his perfect features into her memory. “Gods, Emma,” Killian heaved a relieved sigh and stroked away her tears with his thumb. Suddenly his adrenaline faltered, his own tears threatening to fall, and for the first time in hours, he let himself feel. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“I'll always come back to you,” Emma wept, offering a forlorn smile as Killian pressed his lips to hers for an unsteady kiss.

“What the hell!?” David's voice shook them both from their kiss and Killian tore his body from Emma's, jumping to his feet beside the bed. Emma's head snapped towards her brother when she recognised the low, possessive grumble in his voice and her eyes went wide with shock.

“David,” she panted, unable to form any other word than her brother's name.

David's face was stony, his expression shifting quickly from shock to anger as his eyes fell on Killian. Darkened by rage, David's eyes bore into Killian who shifted uncomfortably under his stare, jaw twitching, his teeth grinding together so hard he thought they might crumble against each other. His fingernails hurt as they ground themselves into his palms when David formed a fist at his side, his breath leaving his body on an angry bull-like snort through his nose.

“David,” Killian offered sympathetically, stumbling backwards into the chair that he had previously been sitting on. The offending furniture skidded backwards into the wall next to the window, but Killian was too pale faced and frightened to tear his eyes from David to see what had stopped his retreat. “Dave, mate, calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down?” He yelled, his volume increasing each time. “You’d better have a good reason for kissing my sister.” David spat and Killian held up a hand to offer penance for his words.

“Alright, alright,” Killian gulped quickly. Now his heart was pounding in his chest for an entirely different reason, the adrenaline surging through his body as Killian fought his fight or flight reflex. “Listen-,” Killian panted hurriedly but his words were cut off.

“I thought I told you my sister was off limits,” David growled at Killian, his ears turning red as his anger rose within him. David was usually calm, collected and reserved. It took a lot for him to get angry enough to find his inner rage, but when he did, it never ended well. David had only genuinely lost his temper a few times in his life and now his college friend and business partner was stoking the fiery coals of his fury once more.

“David, stop!” Emma screeched hoarsely, struggling to lift herself up in the softness of the mattress. Her plea fell on deaf ears and David took a step towards Killian.

“Wait,” Killian flinched, stepping sideways around the chair and inching his way around the room. Killian's back pressed against the glass of the huge hospital room window, the cold Storybrooke night chilling his skin through the glass and through his thin shirt. “I can explain,” Killian offered.

“Of all the women in Storybrooke! In the world!” David bellowed, motioning to Emma. “My sister!”

“David, please!” Emma begged again, her voice unable to break through the walls of David's rage.

“I didn't know Emma was your sister until that day in the office,” Killian conceded honestly.

David snorted, shaking his head from side to side. “The day I warned you,” David confirmed, pointing an accusing finger towards Killian. “And you still-,” he closed his fist with his words, tensing his jaw even harder.

“David, this isn't Killian's fault!” Emma snapped at him and he finally turned to face her. His little sister was weak and fragile, tucked neatly into the oversized hospital bed beside him. “I didn't tell you either.”

Killian shot a look between David and Emma, relaxing his frame against the wall in the corner of the room. David was scary, even Killian had to admit that, and Killian was trapped in this room with him and no way out. Old Killian would have wanted out, wanted to run for the hills, anything except facing the burly beast before him. New Killian was duty bound by the life inside Emma to fight for what he knew and felt was right.

“Emma, do you even know this man? Because I do,” David snarled, turning back to face Killian. “He's a womanizer and a cheat and he is no good for you!”

“Hey!” Killian objected, his own ire evident. “I am not that man!”

“What about at college, eh?” David scoffed. “What about all the times women swooned and threw themselves at the great Killian Jones!” he spat, stepping even closer and prodding his short finger into Killian's chest.

“I didn’t sleep with every girl who wanted me.” Killian batted away David's hand, arched forward and almost pressed his forehead to David's. “So don't touch me!” Killian growled, his entire body shivering with rage. “You haven't got any idea what we are!” Killian extended an arm out towards Emma, her tiny figure only visible in the side of his vision as he locked eyes with the pitch black eyes of David. “We love each other!”

“Please,” David scowled, biting his bottom lip painfully and throwing his head back as he let out a menacing laugh. “Save me the Romeo and Juliet shit. You don't know what love is, Killian,” he chuckled sadistically. 

Killian's skin flushed hot, each tiny hair on his body standing to attention and digging into his skin like a heated needle. “And what do you know?” Killian bit back, slapping his hand to David's shoulder and pushing his massive bulk back.

“Killian, don't!” Emma begged, her sobs almost inaudible.

“You think you know me, but you clearly have no idea who I am. Emma does,” Killian ground out, pushing David again.

David shook his head and bit his tongue, leaning sideways and rolling his shoulder before springing back before Killian. “You don't want to do that, mate,” he spat, his breath inches from Killian's face. A vein pulsed in David's forehead, signaling the building of his fury, and his eyes were wide and manic.

“Or what?” he raised his voice, antagonising David with each word. “You hid the fact you had a sister from me for our entire friendship and we found each other anyway. It’s fate. Why were you so scared of me finding out about your sister? Why, Dave? Maybe you are the one that we don’t know.” Killian took a step forward so their chests bumped together. He was absolutely not going to back down from this. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets, and Emma was worth fighting for. “Show me! Show Emma! Show the world what kind of man you really are!” 

Killian did not know where his courage had come from. There was a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and before he had time to move, David showed Killian on which side of the line he had been standing. David grabbed Killian's shirt, bunching the thin material roughly between his fingers, pulled the slighter man towards him, twisted them a little and then pushed, slamming Killian into the thin wall behind him. Killian's body hit the wall with a shake, his own hands coming up to grab at David's shirt and push back against the bigger man's bulk.

“Come on, Killian,” David sneered, his biceps rippling beneath his shirt as he pulled Killian from the wall with a grunt. Killian let out a bold cry. Hitting the wall had sent a shooting pain through his shoulder and as he grappled with David in the shadowed corner of the room, his muscles began to burn. Killian's brain barely had time to register the pain rippling down his spine when a new, piercing affliction shot through his skull as David headbutted him, splitting his eyebrow open and forcing ruby red blood to drip down his face.

“Enough!” Emma coughed, her lungs burning as she gasped for breath. “Please,” She gasped, gripping the crisp white bed sheet as she spluttered. Emma's face began to turn red and she lurched forward in the bed, slapping her hand to the side of her legs to grab their attention.

“Emma!” They called out in unison and pounded their feet against the tiles of the room as they rushed to her side.

“Get away from my sister!” David growled, barging his shoulder into Killian with a contemptible grunt. Killian stumbled sideways, gripping onto David's arm to stop himself from falling and smearing the crimson heat of his fresh wound across David’s work attire.

Emma shot David a look, a pleading glance to just, for one second, calm himself down. For her. David softened a little, reaching her bedside and plucking her hand from the bed. Emma closed her eyes and tried to drown out the fighting around her with slow, deep breaths. She snatched her hand from David's, disgusted at his behaviour, but she couldn't catch her breath quick enough to scold him. David's heavy hands adjusted the breathing tube on her face as she gasped with a rattling wheeze.

“Emma,” he began, stroking her cheek with the back of his rough knuckles. Emma held up her hand to silence him, the muscles in her jaw clenching as she focused on her breathing.

“Breathe, love, slowly,” Killian calmed, standing shoulder to shoulder with David. He felt the warmth of a trickle of blood rolling down the side of his head, the blood darkening as it rolled further towards his jaw. Killian rested his hands over the hospital blanket covering Emma's legs and caressed her knees lovingly. David shot a sideways glance at Killian and batted his hands from Emma's knees.

“Get off her!” David snapped lowly.

“Shut up!” Killian barked back, a congealing drop of blood falling from his stubbled jawline and stretching itself into the fabric of Emma's hospital blanket.

“Guys!” Emma roared, her sudden volume taking both men by surprise. Emma's eyes flicked between them and she pushed David from her gruffly and weakly kicked her legs, bouncing Killian's hand from her skin. Both men stood back, waiting for what seemed like forever for Emma to talk. “Get out,” she mumbled, her head hanging low and her body hunched over. Emma used all of the energy she could muster to shout at them and it had taken its toll. “GET OUT!” She screamed a final time.

\--

The hospital halls were quiet, only a few footsteps sounded down the halls at this time of night, bouncing off the walls where Killian and David waited. They stood at opposite ends of the short hall, each basked in a dim white glow of light. David rested his massive bulk to the wall, the pale green paint behind him worn and browned from other nervously waiting family members. His hands were pressed behind him, flattened to the wall behind his hips and his head rubbed lightly at the paintwork.

Killian sat not ten feet from him, perched on the edge of yet another identical cloned hospital waiting chair. His elbows rested painfully on his knees, digging in from the weight of his head in his hands. Killian steadily gripped at his head, pressing a sterile gauze pad to his eyebrow painfully and stared at a scuff mark on the floor between his feet. Killian lightly tapped his fingertips to his skull and one of his legs bounced up and down as he waited.

“I'm sorry,” Killian offered, not looking up. What did he have to lose now? Emma had thrown them both out, so as far as he was concerned, he was in the same boat as David.

“Shut up, Jones,” David growled, peeling his eyes open to stare blankly up at the fireproof ceiling tiles. 

“We didn't mean for this to happen,” Killian turned his head sideways and flicked his eyes towards David quickly. The man before him remained unmoved, but Killian saw his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh.

“Funny,” David chuckled sarcastically. “What did you do? Trip and fall into her bed?”

“It's not like that,” Killian sighed frustratedly, letting his hands fall from his head and leaning back in the uncomfortable chair. It groaned under his weight, its flimsy plastic twisting and bending against the wall behind it. Killian's eyebrow had stopped bleeding but was caked in blood, tiny flecks of dried crimson falling to the floor when he grimaced and arched his brow.

“Come on, Killian,” David's words stung Killian like a bee pricking at his skin.

“We are both adults,” Killian started, his frustration lacing his words. Killian jumped up from his seat and turned to face David, a desperate look gracing his features. “Why is this so hard for you?” 

David held his breath and pushed himself from the wall. He turned to Killian, his shoes squeaking against the tiled floor, and plunged his hands into his pockets with balled fists. David figured if they were confined to his pants, his hands wouldn't feel so tempted to strangle the man who had just been kissing his sister in her most fragile state.

Killian waited for David's answer on bated breath. He lifted his hand to his head, quickly dabbing a fingertip to his eyebrow to see if he had stopped bleeding completely. The cut stung when he touched it, and he closed his eye a little with the pain but was relieved to see just some sticky, clear fluid had oozed onto his finger.

“She's my baby sister.” David exhaled wearily. “I’m the only protector she has left.”

“And she's also a grown woman who can make her own choices,” Killian said guardedly. “And you have to respect that. She’s not a nobody, and she doesn’t need anyone to protect her.”

“I know,” David murmured reluctantly. He took a deep breath, sighing. “I know.”

“I love her.” Killian's words were a gamble, tumbling from his lips before he had time to stop them. His revelation would go one of two ways, and the skin behind his ears seared, sizzling with tiny beads of perspiration as he awaited David's reaction.

David did not answer because he knew Killian wasn't lying. He had seen the way Killian held Emma, gentle and tender, careful not to hurt her as they cuddled on the hospital bed not five minutes ago. David gritted his teeth, angry at himself for wanting to admit what he had seen was indeed what Killian had said it was. Love. David had only ever seen it up close once before and that was when his parents were happy and together before his father had died. If Emma thought she had found that, even if it was with Killian, David would not take that from her.

“She loves you too,” David shook his head, hardly able to believe his own words. A small smile crept onto Killian's lips, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So if you hurt her, so help me, Killian,” David warned, pulling his hand from his pocket and pointing a stiff finger towards Killian.

“I won't,” Killian promised, laying a flat palm over his calming heartbeat. “I give you my word.”


	12. Chapter 12

The hospital room Emma was in was very warm. David's shirt had stuck to his body like glue, a fine layer of sweat seeping from every one of his pores. He didn't care though. Emma, his sister, was tucked up in the bed next to him, sleeping soundly for the first time in almost a week. David shuffled in his seat, his huge bulk causing the chair to move a little, making David freeze and glance over at his snoozing sister. All of the machines in the room were gone and there was no longer the desperate sound of beeping and the occasional whoosh of oxygen filling Emma's nostrils.

She was mending. That was all that David cared about right now. Somehow, he had managed to keep Killian at bay by simply being there. They had only crossed paths now and then. When David felt he needed food or a shower, Killian had taken his place at the bedside and vice versa. Despite their differences, and David's still bubbling anger, they had decided that at the hospital and especially around Emma, they would be civil. Killian had come up with the suggestion and David had agreed, finally settling to shake the hand of the man who seemingly cared so much for his only sibling.

Killian had decided to return to work today, insisting that at least one of them should be there. That and he had decided that it was too much stress for Emma to constantly see both of them acting so awkward around each other. Killian couldn't focus at work, instead however, ignoring everyone in the office and leaving his phone off of its cradle, the receiver tossed haphazardly to his desk. He didn't want to be disturbed. All he could think about was Emma and the life they had created by accident, the future for all of them and how David would react when he found out. It briefly crossed Killian's mind to flee; to just pack up Emma and leave Storybrooke forever. But he knew in his heart that Emma would never want to shut out her brother, so instead, he would have to fabricate a plan to get David to accept the fate before him.

Killian sighed, reaching across his expansive desk and plucking his cell phone from the shiny, wooden surface. Sliding his finger across the screen, Killian unlocked his phone and began to scroll through some photos. He was looking for one in particular, one of Emma, one he had taken of them just after an energetic love making session. A smile crept across his lips and he touched the cold glass screen delicately, recalling the morning the snap had been taken. 

In the photo Emma was laughing, her eyes pinched closed with real, absolute joy and her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Killian was kissing her cheek, his own smile gracing his lips as it pressed to the softness of her slightly blushed flesh. They were in bed, the covers strewn messily around them, and Emma clutching it to her chest to cover her breasts. Killian's torso was on full display, one of his arms wrapped around Emma's middle, and with an outstretched arm, he had taken the photo, creating one of their first memories.

Swiping his thumb across the screen, another picture jumped onto the screen and Killian smiled harder. This one he had taken without Emma knowing, her tiny frame stretched out across the bed face down and barely covered by the thin, white sheet. Emma's hair was ruffled, a smile on her lips even as she slept across the entire width of the bed, her long, delicate fingers clutching at Killian's pillow. Killian suspected she was, in fact, awake and knew he was adding the photo to his collection, but she had never said anything. Selfless as usual.

Killian's phone vibrated in his hand, the caller ID indicating a call that set his entire body into a state of panic. It was David, so Killian immediately answered, pressing the phone to his ear and sitting bolt upright in his chair. “Dave?” he began tentatively. “Is it Emma?”

“Emma's fine,” David confirmed with a dull tone, flicking a look over to his slumbering sister. David had paced the room, finally settling on staring out into the bleak Storybrooke afternoon. “Listen,” he began. “Emma is allowed home, so I need your help,” David's words were almost forced, but he meant every word.

“Of course,” Killian shuffled in his chair, eager to hear David's request. “Anything.”

“I know you have a key to my mother's house,” David began, his tone still laced with fragments of his anger. He made sure Killian knew his distaste at him having a key to the one thing still keeping him connected to his mother. “Can you go and get Emma some clothes?”

“Absolutely,” Killian stood quickly, his eyes scanning his desk for his keys. Forgetting where he had put them for a second he took long, determined strides towards his jacket where it hung on the back of his office door. Killian plunged his hands into the pocket, his fingertips colliding into the sharp and pointy bunch. The key to the Swan-Nolan house was newly cut, so Killian distinguished it immediately from the others by its sharp edges and high lustre.

“And make the bed,” David ordered quickly when Emma began to stir at the sound of his voice.

“Aye, I can do that.” Killian pulled the door open and breezed through it, pulling it closed behind him and offering Mary Margaret a quick flash of a smile as he almost ran to the elevator. “Thanks for letting me help,” Killian said quickly, stepping into the metal box as it arrived, its doors sliding open with a silent invitation.

David scoffed into the phone. “Of course,” he said quickly, his tone softening just a little as Emma finally woke on the other side of the room. David hung up and slipped his cell into his pocket, moving to join Emma at the side of her bed again.

“Hey you,” he said smoothly, letting the weight of his body sink into the now familiar hospital chair. David had been sitting in it for so long, and so often, that he was sure it remembered the shape of his buttocks. “How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” Emma coughed a little, the bile rising in the back of her throat and causing her to sit up suddenly, ignoring the pain that shot through her entire being. Her muscles were weak, still aching and a little bit stingy, but she essentially felt better. Her muscles now only felt like she had the flu, so despite it still being a burden, it was an improvement.

David reached to the wheeled table beside her bed and grabbed a vomit bowl, handing it to Emma and helping her hold it under her chin as she spewed the off orange, foamy liquid into it. It stunk, burning at the back of Emma's throat as she expelled it from her mouth, coating her tongue with the bitterness she was now familiar with. David smoothed his hand down her back whilst she was sick, comforting his sister the only way he knew how.

“Want me to call a doctor?” he offered softly, dipping his head to try and catch Emma's eye. 

“No, it's okay,” Emma's body shook a little when another mouthful spewed out of her. 

“I can call someone to give you something,” David offered again, letting Emma squeeze his hand as she vomited.

“It's nothing,” she dismissed quickly, clutching her hand to her stomach as she heaved. Emma had wanted to keep this from David as long as she could, but his constant worrying only made her frustrated. It was only natural he would think something else was wrong with her, but in reality, the only thing wrong was her uncertain future.

Emma was sure it was morning sickness, but it could have also been anxiety. There were many reasons for her to be so anxious and the top of her trigger list was telling her brother about her pregnancy. Emma heaved again, her whole body tensing and a hacking cough escaping her throat. David moved to brush Emma's hair from her face and bunched it in a loose ponytail behind her head, holding it there and looking down at her sadly.

“Emma,” David scolded gently with a frown. “It might be something,” he began, letting go of the bowl when he was certain Emma could hold it herself and grabbing a nearby tissue. He plucked it from the box with a rough sliding sound and held it out for her. 

“I'm pregnant,” Emma blurted weakly not looking at him, taking the tissue with a shaking hand and pressing it to her mouth as she fell backwards onto the plumped pillows with a sigh. “I'm pregnant,” she repeated a little louder, finally rolling her head to look at him sitting beside her, pale faced.

David couldn't speak. All of the colour left his face and his skin prickled. With everything else going on right now, this was the last thing Emma needed and he immediately felt gobsmacked by her words. David sat back, exhaling hard and placing one of his huge palms over his mouth, holding it tightly against his skin to stop any words coming out. Not that they would. David had no idea what to say.

“Say something,” Emma prompted, moving the newspaper grey sick bowl away from herself, putting it back to the top of the table and pushing the whole table away from her. For a second, Emma hated the parasite growing inside of her and wondered why anyone would want to have children considering the average bodies rejection methods.

“I-,” David finally said, his head shaking from side to side with pity. “Is it?” David knew the answer to his question before Emma even opened her mouth. 

“Killian's? Yes,” Emma half chuckled at her brother's silly half-formed question. “I know that's not what you wanted to hear.” Emma reached out and offered him her flat palm. David took her hand, holding onto it and giving it a gentle squeeze. Whenever they were hurt, upset or otherwise feeling lost, they had always just held each other's hand and they could instantly reassure each other. 

“Not really,” David agreed with a snort.

“I don't know what to do,” Emma admitted. Just like all of the times she had needed him before, David was here for her. Emma knew he wouldn't have been anywhere else, and he would always be there if she needed him. Through anything. When they had lost their father, he was there. When they had lost their mother, he was there. David was wise, much wiser than Emma could ever hope to be, and she valued his advice and yearned for his wisdom. More so now. She felt so lost right now, caught between her love for Killian and their child growing inside of her, and for David. “What should I do?”

David gave her a quick smile and sighed at his sister. He reached over, leaning his massive frame against the edge of the bed and clutching her hand to his chest. Bending his neck, David pressed his lips to her hand in his and cupped her face with his other hand. Emma's expression said everything; she was the strongest woman he had ever known, deterred by absolutely nothing and the rock in his life. And yet, right now, she was just a shell of the woman he knew and David silently cursed Killian for doing that to her.

“Do you love him?” David asked her, both of them knowing that he meant Killian. David didn't have to ask it, he could see it written in the smile on Emma's face. She did love Killian, which was the exact reason why she was so conflicted.

“With everything in my heart,” Emma breathed, the familiar spring of tears pricking at her eyes.

“Then why are you crying?” David brushed one of Emma's fallen tears from her face. “Love shouldn't make you cry.” He smiled weakly, tilting his head sympathetically.

“I don't know,” Emma sobbed, her breath hitching in her throat. “It's all happening so fast.” Emma's breath caught in her throat and her body hitched with another cry. “I don't know what I want. Killian. This baby. Or both,” she finished angrily. 

“Does he know?” David prodded gently, letting his hand fall from her face where it rested on her knee. David smoothed his thumb over the hospital blanket, warming her skin beneath.

Emma nodded slowly. “A nurse told him by accident.” She let out a nervous laugh and rolled her eyes at the incompetence of her colleagues. “They thought he knew.”

David contemplated her words, darting his tongue out to lick his lips. Killian had known and kept it from him. David kind of understood his logic though; David would have killed him. Was he just supposed to call him and tell him he had knocked up his sister? If the tables were turned, David probably wouldn’t have told Killian either, and he didn't particularly care for Killian's feelings right now, but because Emma did, he forced himself to ask his next question. “Does he want to keep it?”

Emma shrugged. “He said he wants what I want,” she began, her body feeling suddenly heavy against the pillows. “But I don’t know what I want, only what I wanted.”

“Which was?” David prompted softly.

Emma shrugged and a smile tugged at her lips in memory. “A bit of fun. Something to take my mind off of mom, and now I’ve got a permanent distraction.”

“You could say that,” David smiled warmly.

“And I don’t want to hurt Killian, so you see my dilemma,” Emma sighed.

Emma didn't know what she wanted. She had been sure she could be a mother, stay in Storybrooke and raise a family with Killian. She had everything here. David, a house, a job if she wanted to stay forever. However, she had also had several days alone in a hospital room to think about things. She was young and didn't feel like she could do it. Having a child was such a big commitment and Emma had never once thought about children, especially with Killian. She wasn't blind to the fact that accidents could happen, but the guilt of forcing it upon a partner she had only just met was not fair to both of them.

“You need to be more selfish.” David nodded towards her, pointing at her. “Stop putting everyone else first,” he said sternly. “You have spent your entire life being that person, Emma.”

“I know, but Killian-,” she began and David's inner rage towards his business partner finally got the better of him.

“What?” he snapped. “What about Killian? Do you ever think about yourself? You’re contemplating having a baby just to make someone else happy?” David's words came out a little more harsh than he had intended, but he and Emma had an understanding. A secret sibling code. They could say whatever they wanted to each other, be as honest and as brutal as they could be, and at the end of it all, they would still be there for each other. When they were kids it was that exact behaviour that led people to believe they were twins, despite the age gap.

Emma knew David was right. It didn't help that he seemed to know her better than she knew herself. Emma wanted a baby and she wasn’t sure she could consider termination, but she wasn't sure she could live with the dread of living a life with Killian and him slowly coming to resent her over time. “A baby would make me happy,” she stated honestly, dodging David's mention of Killian.

“So have a baby.” David shrugged. “But don't run off and get married because you think it's what someone else would do,” he paused. “Or want.” David had known Killian a long time and he was sure that as much as he wanted to believe he would be there for his sister, he couldn't promise Emma that he knew Killian would be. How well somebody knew someone was always tested in situations like this. David's mind ticked over with possible scenario suggestions for his sister, and all of them ended with him having to keep a secret from his friend. 

“This would be so much easier if Killian didn't know,” Emma twisted her lips sideways, her words signalling her frustration.

“So tell him there isn’t a baby anymore,” David suggested. Emma stared at him. His words were harsh, but what if she could? “Tell him you’ve miscarried. A complication or something. I'm sure there is some doctor speak you could baffle him with.”

“Maybe I should just run away,” Emma suggested in jest, her words echoing David's every thought. He snapped his head up to meet her gaze and Emma looked at him questioningly. “What?” She asked, a little worried, wiping her mouth quickly in case she had something offending stuck to her face from her earlier vomiting.

“Maybe you should,” David offered coldly. “I mean, maybe you should go home, leave all this behind.”

Emma's mind ticked over at his words. The words that she had been thinking but had been afraid to even suggest to herself, let alone anyone else. What would happen if she did _just_ disappear? Would Killian try and find her? Of course, he would. Emma knew that much. 

“I can't do that,” Emma shook her head. “It's not right.”

David knew she was right. He imagined for a second that he was in Killian's shoes and had fallen in love, a whirlwind romance filled with lust and passion that had finally come to the conclusion they were facing now. He knew he would never stop fighting for a child he knew he now had, so how could he expect Killian to just forget about the same thing? “So don't tell him,” David suggested.

Emma considered his words. “You mean just leave?”

David shrugged. “Or leave a note. Do what you have to to make yourself happy,” he smiled weakly. “I miss you happy, Emma. This isn't my baby sister.”

Emma knew David was right. Everything had come all at once. Her mother had died and she had found solace in a wonderful man, but was it enough? How long could she pretend that it was? Emma was sure she loved Killian but she didn’t really know him, and they had rushed into things. A pang of doubt crept into her suddenly. How can somebody be so conflicted? How could somebody feel so happy and yet so hollow?

“He'll try to find me,” Emma told David, her words the only thing she had been sure of all day.

David nodded. “He will. I can only keep him at work for so long before he will just walk out and go searching the country for you.”

They both laughed, realising they knew Killian as well as each other in that exact moment. David stood up and smoothed his hand over the back of Emma's head, planting his lips to the top of it with a kiss. He didn't have to say anything, his silent promise to always be there for her had always been the same wordless action. It gave Emma strength, a lot of which she needed right now.

“He would you know,” David confirmed, grabbing one of the disposable cups stacked near Emma's bed and pouring some water into it. The cup was small and the water crashed into the bottom, threatening to jump from its clear, plastic confines and spill out. David offered it to Emma who took it thankfully, taking a sip to moisten her throat. “You'd have to threaten him.”

“I can't believe I’m considering this,” Emma took another sip and passed the cup back to him. Her throat felt better now having healed enough that the doctors had said she could go home. That in itself posed a new set of challenges and Emma was sure that David and Killian would be constantly at her side, fighting for her affections like a couple of jealous teenage boys. It would give her time to consider things if nothing else.

“I'll deny ever having this conversation,” David told her, settling back into the seat and interlocking his fingers on his lap. “I know you'll make the right decision, Emma. For yourself, no one else,” David emphasised his words. “I'll support you either way.” He smiled.

“Thanks.” Emma smiled back, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. She was getting sick and tired of staring at the same walls day in and day out. Sick of smelling the chemicals used to routinely clean the whole place, something she had never really noticed as a doctor. “I can't wait to get out of here,” she almost sang, a happiness filling her words that she hadn't been able to find for a few days.

“I sent Killian to get you some things,” David smirked a little, looking away from her furrowed brow. “So he felt useful.” He shrugged.

“You have to forgive him,” Emma told her brother, watching as his jaw twitched. “Stuff happens, Dave. This wasn't his fault.” Emma shook her head and offered her hand to him once more. “He respects you so much,” she told him matter of factly, gripping onto his fingers tightly. 

“He defiled my sister.” David laughed at his own words and Emma joined him, her chuckle a little too enthusiastic and turning into a cough. David reached for the water again but Emma waved him off, red-faced and short of breath.

“Oh grow up,” Emma coughed out, covering her mouth with a flat palm. “Your sister is a grown ass woman who can fuck whoever she pleases.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him and he cringed, poking his fingers into his ears and pinching his eyes closed just like they used to when they were kids.

“La La La I'm not listening!” David sang out, looking away from her, trying to not imagine his sister ever having sex.

Emma laughed again, and just as she did a soft knock at the door caught both of their attention. They looked towards the white fireproof door as it was pushed open slowly and Killian poked his head around the frame. David met his eyes briefly before looking away and back to Emma, distracting himself with nothing. Emma caught his gaze and smiled, inviting him in with a nudge of her head.

“I got you a change of clothes to go home in,” Killian said smiling, stepping around the door and letting it close behind him. The pile of neatly folded clothes in his hands where exactly what Emma needed; grey tracksuit bottoms and lounge shirt, complete with a matching oversized hoodie. Maybe Killian did know her better than she knew herself.

“Thank you.” Emma smiled sweetly, encouraging him closer to the bed with a wave of her hand. “Dave was just going to get a coffee,” she announced, suggesting to her brother that he should make himself scarce.

“I was,” David confirmed, standing to his feet and smoothing his hands over the front of his jeans. “Do you want anything?” David ignored Killian and directed his question towards Emma who shook her head gently. “Killian?” David almost bit his tongue in half saying his name, but Emma was right, he had to start Killian's redemption somewhere.

Killian looked up to David, his flushed cheeks cooling suddenly and a wash of relief flowing over him. “I'm alright, mate, thanks.” He smiled a tight-lipped smile as they passed each other at the foot of the bed. Emma rolled her eyes at David, seeing the awkwardness in both of their reactions as he left the room.

Killian watched David go before moving across the room to kiss Emma quickly. He let his lips linger on hers but it was chaste and sweet, relieving for them both. “Hey,” he breathed, smiling down at her and resting their foreheads together.

“Hey,” Emma mirrored his words, resting a flat palm to his cheek. Killian's skin was warm beneath hers and all of her hairs stood on end. She was so ready to get out of this place and be back in her own, comfortable bed. 

“Killian, I-,”

“Emma-,”

They both started to speak at the same time, their gazes averted. Emma wanted nothing more than to tell Killian there was no baby. If she said the words out loud now, before she lost her courage for them later on, she could gauge his reaction. If he stayed, she would know he wasn't just sticking around out of duty. If he decided to leave, she would know the same thing, but she froze, unable to form the words in her throat.

Killian looked up at her expectantly, awaiting her words that never came. Silently they stared, lost in each other's eyes. Emma's were like staring in a starlit galaxy, glittering with flecks of darkness scattered between the green hue of her iris. Killian's were like the ocean, deep and shadowy, but shining with the reflection of the stars. Killian wanted to tell her so many things but he had never been good with words, his actions normally enough to get him by. His lips twitched up into a small, weak smile and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You ready, love?” Killian asked, helping her pull the blanket back and slipping the jogging pants over her tiny feet. Emma's skin was still so pale and the faintest musk wafted from the blanket when he pulled it back. Killian would make sure Emma was cleaned and taken care of when they got back to her place.

Emma nodded earnestly. “Take me home.”

\--

Emma had been home for a week. Her stay in the hospital had been awful. Between constantly worrying about herself and her patients, she was a mess. Doctors did indeed make the worst patients, but now that she was back in her mother's house, the familiar scent of lavender and rose soap wafting through the air, Emma felt safe. The house was becoming her home, but in the back of her mind, Emma couldn't help but feel she didn't belong in Storybrooke any more.

Emma had left many years ago, going away to college and never returning. She hadn't missed it; in fact, the constant wet weather and need for multiple layers had been the thing she least missed about Storybrooke. Emma was a country girl at heart, yearning for the rolling green hills of some outback state more and more as she had grown up. When she had fled, moved out of state with her modest belongings and medical license in tow, Emma had never imagined the one thing that would bring her back would be family. Emma also never imagined the one thing keeping her here would turn out to be the same thing.

Killian had been unexpected. He had come into her life at exactly the right time for the wrong reasons. He was a little bit of fun she indulged in whilst she was down, fuelled by the emptiness she felt inside at the loss of her mother. Emma had never expected to feel the way she did about him, never expected to forget to take the morning after pill, and never expected to have to be in the dilemma she was in now. Stay or go? Killian was too perfect; well paid, good looking, fantastic in bed and any other stereotype you could throw in there. But he was now obligated to stick around because of the life they had created by accident, and Emma didn't want him to end up hating her.

For the entire week, Killian had busied himself every day after work helping to do her chores, cooking her meals and generally doting on her hand and foot. Emma wasn't sure if it was because he felt obligated or if he really wanted to be there. David had helped too, the two men taking it in turns to be at her side without ever really seeing the other. She loved them both. David was her brother and had always looked out for her, but she was still mad at him for attacking Killian. Killian, her whirlwind romance and father on her unborn child, was annoying her with his constant fussing. There was no escape.

Storybrooke was still raining, but there was no chill in the air today. Emma had little else to do but watch the weather and so sitting in her mother's old rickety arm chair had become her latest hobby. It was as old as the house and Emma couldn’t remember a time when her mother hadn't sat in the pale, high backed, worn wicker chair, and stared longingly out the window. Emma had often suspected that that was her mother's way of dealing with loss, her way of passing the time she knew would never be filled with her husband's laughter again. For a second, Emma wondered if she hadn't just sat in this chair mourning, things would be different.

The old tree outside of the house swayed gently in the warm breeze and the rustle of the leaves caught Emma's attention, shaking her from her daydream. A thin smile played across her features as she pushed herself to her feet, moving to the window and resting her elbow to the white wooden sill. It had seen better days; the paint was peeling, big chips missing here and there from the yellowing paintwork. Emma remembered a time when she and David visited one summer and helped their mother spruce up the house by painting doors, ceilings and window sills. With a saddened pang in her heart, Emma regretted that that was probably the last time all three of them had spent time together before her mother's death.

Emma rested her chin on her clenched palm and watched the sky turn grey, the clouds above the house full of the equally grey raindrops that soon turned into heavy blots on the pavement outside. The rain on the leaves of the tree made pattering sounds each time it hit one of the waxy green leaves, instantly rolling from the leaf and falling unheard to the ground below. No one was around, instead staying indoors to avoid the incoming storm. Emma loved to watch a storm, she always had. Usually, David would be at her side, his larger frame there and easily grabbed when the roll of thunder and flash of lightning made her jump.

“A storm is coming,” Killian said gently from behind her. Emma hadn't heard him enter the room but she had felt him behind her, his likeable scent wafting through the door before he had crossed the threshold.

“Looks like it,” Emma agreed, not taking her eyes from the weather outside as it changed. A low distant rumble caught her attention and she splayed a protective hand over her unchanged stomach. Killian was now the storm in Emma's life, rolling in with the power of thunder, leaving its mark like a lightning strike and creating new life in its wake. 

Unforgettable storms always had a name and hers was Killian.

“How are you doing today?” Killian prodded gently, aware that he was eating away at the thin threads of Emma's nerves. She had been housebound, relying on just him and David to look after her and he might have been a little obsessively overprotective. “Can I get anything for you?”

Emma still watched out of the window, her gaze following a line of rain down the old, single glazed window pane as she pushed herself to her feet. A small patch of condensation had begun to form in the corner, signalling the temperature drop outside and Emma reached out a single digit and traced a lighting shape through the moisture. “Watch the storm with me?” Emma asked him gently, finally turning to look at him with a weak smile.

Killian returned her smile and let the duvet he was fluffing fall back down onto the bed. He smoothed over the corners, pressing out the creases that had formed from his grip on the fabric cover. Killian padded across the room, the sound of his footsteps absorbed totally by the carpet beneath his feet. When he reached Emma, Killian smoothed his hands over her shoulders, pressing the warmth of his body into her back and placing a kiss to the top of her head. Killian hummed contently, unable to hide his pleasure at her scent, and his hands soon enveloped her tiny frame in his grasp. “It's going to be a big one,” he noted, dipping his head slightly to see the sky outside.

“I hope so.” Emma smiled and leaned back into his body. Even though they were not facing each other, Emma couldn't help but smell Killian's manly scent and now that her lungs were stronger and she could, she inhaled deeply. “God, you smell good.”

Killian arched an eyebrow and frowned a little. “I do?”

Emma nodded. “Inhaling hasn't been my strong point lately.” She pressed his hand to her chest, the reminder of her pneumonia still evident due to a small, chesty rattle when she breathed too deeply. “I missed it.” She beamed honestly.

Killian wrapped his arms around her more tightly and was unable to stop himself kissing her cheek. “It's not going anywhere.” Killian smiled and Emma felt a tug at her heart.

“I miss home,” she blurted suddenly, fixing her gaze onto the rain as it pounded the glass. The darkened sky seemed to never end, charcoal clouds rolling with the breeze and casting the earth below in a blue grey haze. Emma's hand found Killian's and she interlaced their fingers. “Storybrooke is so-”

“Depressing?” Killian offered, following her steady gaze to the brewing storm outside. He heard the very subtle rumble of thunder edging nearer to the house.

“Lifeless,” Emma droned melancholic. Killian moved to stand in front of her, smoothing his hands down her arms.

“Emma, are you alright? You seem-,” he began, not really knowing where to go with his words. Emma had been distant since she had woken up. He wasn't sure if it was something to do with the baby or something he had done, but he knew it was something.

Emma finally turned her head to look at him, her eyes glinting in a flash of lightning outside. “I told David,” she said quietly.

“Oh.” Killian took her hand in his and balled them together. He would be lying if he said he wasn't scared of her brother. After all, David was much bigger than he was and as Killian could confirm, he hit much harder. “What did he say?” he asked tentatively.

Emma shrugged, remembering David's words to her but not wanting to disclose a single word of it. David had been right, Emma needed to be more selfish. And she didn't want to talk about it right now. Right now, she wanted to feel something other than sadness. “Killian?” Emma ignored his question and he looked at her questioningly, tilting his head to the side and smoothing his hands up her arms. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything.” Killian returned her smile with a nod. His fingers traced lazy lines up and down her arms and her skin tingled beneath the fabric of her sweater.

Emma looked up to him and offered him a smile. “Sleep with me,” she demanded softly.

Killian's breathed hitched in his throat every time Emma looked at him the way she was right now. He knew Emma didn't mean snooze or cuddle. Killian flushed hot, his hands frozen to Emma's shoulders and his heart pounding in his chest. “Emma, I’m not sure-,”

“Please, Killian.” Emma stepped into his space, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his shirt. She inhaled again, the deep, tang of his aftershave burning the back of her throat. Her fingers bunched the fabric of his shirt as she balled her fists and finally lifted her head to meet his darkened gaze. “I just want to feel something.”

Killian's heart split in two. Emma was still broken. She had healed on the outside, but inside she was torn about something he didn't know and wouldn't ask. They had moved so quickly in their relationship, losing themselves in each other over and over again that Killian was at his own conflict. He wanted nothing more than to lay Emma down and make love to her as the storm raged outside, but what would it solve?

“Emma, we-,” Killian began solemnly, but his words were cut short when Emma pulled on his shirt and crushed their lips together. They ignored a flash of lightning, and the rumble of the house when thunder roared above them. Killian's lips parted a little and Emma's tongue slipped into his mouth, swishing over the ridges of his teeth and tasting him eagerly. Killian's hands moved to cup Emma's face, holding it in place whilst he teased her tongue with his, pouring every ounce of his love into the silent action.

“Shut up, Killian,” Emma mumbled against his lips, only parting from his long enough to catch her breath. Her body arched into his, her nipples hardening under her sweater and brushing against his chest. Killian sucked in a breath. “Just kiss me.”

With a hasty gulp, Killian seized her lips once more, pushing against them so hard he thought he might bruise them. A soft moan escaped Emma's mouth between thrusts of her tongue, teeth clashing together with want and desire. Killian slid his hands to Emma's hips, digging his fingers into the soft flesh that peeked out from beneath her sweater when she looped her arms around his neck. He held her to him, deepening the kiss further still and a flash of white appearing behind his closed eyelids.

Emma tugged on the back of his head, clawing at the length of his hair. She arched her feet, rising up onto tiptoes and pleading into Killian's mouth on each kiss. Killian pulled his lips from hers, his heavy pants warming her face because he was so close. He stroked a thumb pad over her cheek, dragging his digit over her skin and placing a feathery touch to her chin as he searched her eyes. Emma's green orbs were a dark, leafy colour and she didn't have to say anything for Killian to be able to see the arousal behind them.

In a quick move that took her slightly by surprise, Killian cupped her behind and lifted her from the floor. Emma wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively and she felt the pool of heat between her legs press up against his hardening member as she pulled his lips back to hers. The kiss was now more urgent, feverish and audible pants heard between smacking of lips and the sliding of tongues. Killian's hands gripped into the flesh of her behind, pulling her against his groin roughly and his lips twitching into a smirk when he felt her grind against him in response.

“Please, Killian, I need you,” Emma begged and Killian spun them around so that he was facing the bed. He growled low in his throat but it was almost lost in another thunderous rumble from the storm. Emma let her hands brush over Killian's shoulders, finding the buttons on his shirt and pushing each circular disc through its corresponding hole, one at a time, deftly undressing him. Before they reached the bed, Killian's shirt had been pushed over his shoulders and shaken from his arms, pooling into a heap behind them on the floor.

“I’m right here, love,” Killian whispered huskily between kisses. The bed dipped under their weight when he pressed a knee to it to steady himself, tattooed biceps bulging as he lowered her to the freshly made bed. Emma clutched at the back of his head, reluctant to let his lips leave hers for even a second, and his hands tugged roughly at the hem of her sweater. It was pulled off with ease, Emma’s bra soon following and her nipples hardening immediately. “I’m right here,” Killian repeated lovingly, sliding down her body just enough so he could capture a pebbled nipple between his lips.

Emma’s body reacted instantly, her back arching off the bed as it screamed for his attention. She looked down, the sight of her half naked body assaulted by his hands and his tongue too much to contain her arousal. Emma moaned, loud and satisfied, her entire body shaking with anticipation as Killian hooked his fingers into the waistband of her jeans and gave them a gentle tug. She had lost weight, easily noticeable when her still buttoned jeans slipped down over her bony hips with little resistance and Killian eased himself up to pull them off completely.

He gave her a soft smile, his tongue darting out to worry his bottom lip as he unbuttoned his own jeans and felt instant relief when his erection sprang free. His nipples pulled into tight peaks under the thatch of chest hair, the blue lines of his tattoo rippling under the flex of his muscles as he took himself in hand and gave himself a few good, slow strokes. Killian pushed his jeans down over his buttocks, leaving them halfway down his legs as he crawled back over her, enclosing Emma in his hold.

“You’re so bloody gorgeous,” Killian said softly, pressing a kiss to each of her eyelids as they fluttered closed. “And we can stop-”

“Hurry,” Emma whimpered, grinding her hips upward until her bare sex brushed against the tip of his erection between them. 

Killian gasped at the contact, the soft length of her hair there tickling his sensitive tip. He was painfully aroused, the skin on his length pulled as tight as it ever had been, the head of him weeping and smearing pre cum over Emma’s inviting sex. He wanted to take his time, worship her and make her feel everything she begged for, but Emma had other ideas, reaching down between them and lining him up with her entrance.

“There,” she whispered on a sigh, scooting herself down until Killian’s tip slipped inside of her. There was a pause from them both, the stretch and burn of him making her freeze and stiffen beneath him. “More,” she begged, clutching the sides of his face until they were looking into each other’s eyes. “Give me more.”

With one swift thrust of his hips, Killian buried himself inside of her to the hilt, his resolve loosening as he fought back a premature finish. It was like Emma wanted to use his body, grinding her clit against him for friction, and he wouldn’t say no to her if that was what she needed to feel, but he still wanted to show her how much he really did love her. Their love had come on quickly but Emma still had an unnerving look in her eye when he said the words out loud, like she was in conflict, or she would run at any moment. Killian just wanted to guide her right, show her how dear she was to him with more than just words.

He pulled out of her slowly, the torturous drag of his length against her inner walls making her quiver before he pushed himself back inside with a deliberate roll of his hips. She whimpered, nodding her approval as she bit down on her bottom lip, fingernails scraping down the entire length of his torso in appreciation. Killian’s skin itched, his toes curling in his socks as her fingers burned lines into his chest, leaving scratch marks in her wake and making his chest hair stand to attention under her assault. 

“I’m going to make you feel,” he rasped.

“Yes,” Emma whispered in agreement, her arms circling around his torso and sliding to the curve of his behind.

Killian rolled his hips again, slowly, feeling every ridge inside of her as he withdrew. A soft groan escaped her mouth at the loss but before she had time to object, Killian was filling her up once more with a forceful canter of his hips that had her crying out in time with a crack of thunder. Emma’s fingernails almost pierced his skin, tearing at the flesh of his behind, pulling him impossibly deeper inside of her. Her legs spread wider with each of his well timed thrust, her own hips meeting his and his body rubbing deliciously at her clit.

Emma whimpered, a thin sheen of sweat covering her entire body and trapping a layer of insulating moisture between them. Killian’s hand found her face, his middle finger skimming at tendrils of blonde from her brow and tucking it behind her ear whilst his thumb traced the outline of her lips. His mouth followed, sucking hungrily at her bottom lip as she met his kiss with equal ferocity, a greedy longing behind her actions that made him even harder inside of her.

“Fuck,” Killian gasped, tearing his lips from hers to shoot a glance down at where they were joined. Emma’s hips were meeting his, grinding her clit against his body, desperate to reach the other side of the storm.

“Make me come, Killian,” Emma rasped salaciously. “I’m almost there.”

Killian crawled higher on the bed, falling deeper into her and changing the angle of his hips. Emma screamed out, but not in pain, every nerve ending in her body igniting at the same time. Her eyes rolled back behind her eyelids, her body limp, a slave to Killian’s pistoning hips as he strained every muscle he had to give her what she sought.

Emma came in a blinding shower of light, her lungs expelling all of the air she had left inside of her and her nails digging into Killian’s shoulders. He carried on, riding her through it, loving the way her muscles pulled at his length that had yet to spill his own orgasm into her. Emma went rigid beneath him but he carried on, sitting back on his heels and slowing his pace, tentatively dipping himself inside of her, teasing her already sensitive g spot even more. She twitched, sucking in a lungful of air before she smirked and her legs went limp by his thighs and collapsed still on the bed.

The storm had passed over them, the skies outside turning to a lighter shade of grey as the angry, black clouds floated miles away. Emma was roused from her post-orgasmic haze by Killian’s fingertips brushing up and down her thighs, first on the outside and then skimming to caress the inside too. Her eyes fluttered open when he pulled himself from inside her, ignoring the rage inside of his groin as it protested the loss of her warmth, his hand a poor substitute. He knelt between her legs and watched her with a content smile, her euphoria still evident all over her features.

“You didn’t-,” Emma began, her hand idling on one of her breasts, lazily drawing circles around her still hard nipples.

“I’m alright,” Killian assured her with a smile, still stroking his erection in one hand. “This was about you.”

“Are you sure?” Emma smirked, wiggling her hips. “The damage is already done.”

It was a poor joke, even Emma had to admit that, and the thought of her future sobered her immediately. Killian didn’t laugh, licking his lips nervously and diverting his gaze to the duvet between them. His hands moved to his own thighs, sliding inside the waistband and pushing the denim down. Divesting himself of his jeans, Killian scrambled up the bed again, positioning himself next to Emma and shimming under the now wrinkled comforter.

“Another time, love,” Killian smiled weakly, reaching out to brush another strand of hair from her face.

“Are you okay?” Emma moved closer to him, needing to feel the warmth from his body. 

The rain had stopped now, but the chill of the weather seeped in through the glass and made her shiver. Instinctively, Killian pulled her closer, not stopping until their naked bodies were pressed together and then they were cuddled up closer under the duvet. He gave her a smile, his lips twitching up at the corners and his stubble rubbing against the pillow.

“Never better,” Killian assured her sweetly. “This was about one of us needing something that only the other could give.”

Guilt hit Emma like a freight train. Here was a man, so invested in what she wanted that he has forgone his own pleasure to give her what she wanted, and all she could think about was how to soften the blow.

“Killian?” Emma whispered softly, tucking her hands against her chest as he pushed his legs between hers for even more contact.

“Aye, love?” Killian answered through his yawn. 

“You look tired,” Emma noted. She reached out, pushing his floppy hair back from his brow, watching his eyes flutter closed at the feel of her fingers along his scalp. “I’ve exhausted you.”

“And it’s not all the sex either.” Killian smirked, eyes still closed.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said softly. She reached for his hand, covering it with both of hers and pulling it to rest between her bosom. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with so much.”

“It’s all been worth it to hold you again,” Killian whispered, his words a little slurred from his impending slumber.

“And I’m sorry about Dave.” Emma pulled his hand tighter to her body when she felt his grip on her own loosen, the limb feeling heavy in her hands. “He doesn’t know how to articulate with anything but his fists.” Emma reached up between them and skimmed her fingertips over the purpling bruise David had left on Killian’s face.

“I’m not going to lie,” Killian began, nudging his face harder into the softness of the pillows. “Dodging your brother is exhausting.” His boyish smile drifted from his face as quickly as it appeared, sleep well and truly taking him over in no time. “But he’s right,” Killian mumbled, half asleep. “Dave’s always right.”

“Yeah, he is,” Emma whispered back.

“Mmm, love?” Killian mumbled incoherently, fighting his eyelids to stay open.

Emma watched his eyelids stay closed for the final time, a long breath leaving his body as he exhaled and moulded into the mattress. He was tired, Emma could see that the closer she inspected his features. His skin was fatigued, especially around his eyes that, in certain lights, looked like he was wearing eyeliner, and Emma knew she was to blame. She was sure that if anyone looked up the definition of stress in the dictionary, there would be a photo of her heavily pregnant in a hospital bed whilst an angry David looked on.

“Sleep,” she said softly, stroking her fingers down his chest and pausing with her hand above his slow beating heart. “I’ll always be right here.” Emma watched her fingers intently, the gentle beat of Killian’s heart tapping at her fingertips in a rhythm she would never forget.

She sighed, a soft resignation of the choice laid out in front of her.


End file.
